


And So the Sun Saved a Wolf

by Nanso



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Complicated Relationships, Diplomacy, Elia Martell Lives, F/M, Or they try at least, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Plotting, Slightly Romantic, Slightly dramatic, Slightly screwball comedy, Those romantic relationship tags don't guarantee anyone a happy ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:28:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 46,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21701455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nanso/pseuds/Nanso
Summary: In which Elia Martell manages to save Brandon Stark before the Mad King kills him - and everything changes.
Relationships: Elia Martell/Brandon Stark, Elia Martell/Rhaegar Targaryen, Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen
Comments: 505
Kudos: 532





	1. Prologue - Brandon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All characters belong to GRRM, I own nothing. This is just fanfic. Etc, etc, etc.

When Brandon Stark awoke, he thought perhaps he was dead. _This is not the black cells_ , he thought.

_The Mad King must have killed me too._

He remembered watching his father burn in the Great Hall of the Red Keep as that filthy, mangy silver devil cackled, sitting upon the bloody iron throne.

Brandon had tried so hard to get to his father before darkness consumed him.

And now - now he heard a faint, soft humming by him. He blinked, trying to figure out where exactly he was.

Sunlight was hitting his face and it felt wonderful. _Yes, I am dead._ He winced in pain, a sharp jolt stinging his neck. Then he remembered that something had bound his neck as he tried to get to his father.

_Maybe I am not dead, my neck hurts too damn much for me to be dead. But this is the South. Maybe I'm in one of their seven hells and that's why it hurts._

As his eyes adjusted, he slowly turned his head to see a woman gently tending to his neck. A beautiful woman. She looked familiar but his brain was too garbled to place her while he was trying to figure out if he was alive or dead.

Dark wavy hair framed a thin, tan face. When he moved his arm, she startled, pulling her hand from his neck and gazing at him. He was greeted by globes of dark honey, tints of sadness notable even in her surprised state.

"Lord Stark! Oh, you're awake," she breathed in relief.

"Princess?" he croaked. "Princess Elia?"

A small smile graced her face. "Be careful, your wound is still quite fresh. I'm just redressing it," she said gently, returning to her task.

"Why are you here and not a maester?" he asked weakly.

Her lips formed a tense line. "I do not trust the maester here. And I needed to know - be sure - you were well."

When she moved over him slightly to the other side of his neck, he froze. The other side of her face that had not been visible before was slightly swollen and covered with a dark purple and black bruise.

He reached a hand up to her cheek slowly, which she saw out of the corner of her eye, but ignored and continued on her task. _Who would hit a woman? The Princess no less? Maybe it was that cursed Prince._ "Who...who did this to you?" he asked, voice shaking with anger.

He heard a loud, anxious swallow. "It is not important."

"It is. Please tell me, Princess."

She drew her hands back to her lap and sighed as she looked at him. "I will tell you, but you must promise not to get angry. I do not want you straining your neck and making your wound worse. Are we clear?" she commanded sternly. _Gods, I did not expect her to have such steel in her voice._

He gave her a small nod. She looked at him for a few moments, perhaps still considering if he'd honor that agreement, before she spoke. "The King."

Now he knew why she said that. He tried to restrain himself, slightly easier because of his weakened state, but he could still feel his blood boiling. His father burning flashed through his mind.

"Why?" he asked, voice strained with rage.

"I asked him not to kill you, to release the strangle device that was placed on you. This was for my..." she paused briefly touching her cheek, wincing, before she continued. "For my insolence, he said."

Another memory comes back to him then just before he passed out in the Great Hall. A woman pleading with the crazed man for him. He looked at her with wide eyes. "That was you? Why?"

"Should I not have?" she asked, slightly bemused.

He let out a small incredulous laugh. It felt odd to laugh in such dark times. "No, I'm glad that you did. For I seem to be alive now. I assume I have you to thank for that then?"

"Do not thank me yet. I had to lie to him to convince him. After he hit me, I said perhaps it was better if you were alive so that the Northern lords could be witness to your trial for treachery and pledge their fealty to him," she said dryly. "It appears to have worked...for now. But I don't know how long I can keep this up."

He looked at her shocked. What was this woman doing? What was going on?

_Perhaps I am dead, this makes no sense._

"I don't understand. Why do you want to help me?" he asked, still not understanding.

She sighed as she gave him a look of exasperation. It reminded him of the way his mother would look at him when he asked why he must go to lessons with the Maester. "Gods, Brandon Stark! We barely know each other and yet you seem convinced that I'm either heartless or stupid - or both! Do you not see that the realm will be engulfed in war now that Aerys has killed your father?" Her eyes shifted from exasperation to concern and she gripped his hand then. "We have to find a way to solve this before too many others die, do you not see?" she told him urgently.

He gulped, taking in what she was saying. Surely the North would rise when they heard of his father's death. _Father_. Perhaps they already had.

"I need to write to Ned...and Gods! Where is my sister?" he was starting to get agitated now.

"Now on that last front I can be of service," she said flatly before rising and walking to a desk near them, the dark blue silk of her dress swirling at her feet. She returned holding a piece of paper and handed it to him. "Read this, read it again, then speak. And please try to do so rationally," she said matter-of-factly as she sat down by the bed once more.

He took the paper as he eyed her skeptically and started to read. _This is Lyanna's writing! Wait…_

His eyes darted to Elia with an incredulous look and then he remembered her words, so he read the letter again. It didn't help.

"She…she went with him willingly?" he said in what could only be described as a whispered scream.

Elia raised her eyebrows and nodded before taking the letter back. "I received that on Dragonstone just after my oh-so-gallant husband left to, as I found out from this letter, meet with her. I suppose she thought he would receive this last missive before he left. When I read her words that she would be 'eagerly awaiting' him, well - it seemed clear enough then. Especially after what happened at Harrenhal."

Brandon groaned, sinking into the bed. "What the fuck, Lyanna? I came here for her! Father, Gods!" _What madness was this?_ Tears began to sting his eyes.

She slowly raised a hand to his cheek, her touch surprising the northerner, but not bothering him. In fact, it was rather comforting. "I'm sorry."

He looked at her, his eyes full of grief and anger. "Why are you apologizing to me? My sister...my sister ran off with your husband!"

The princess smiled weakly. "I am sorry for your loss, I mean. For your father. I know what it is to lose a parent, though not in such a manner. I am sorry that you had to go through that," she told him quietly.

He looked at her as he took in her in the offered comfort before he placed a hand over hers, closing his eyes. He could not keep the tears from falling - it was maddening, all these emotions, this pain.

_Perhaps I would rather be dead after all._

Elia closed her eyes earnestly, almost as if she was in prayer. "Rest now, we'll find a way forward. You will not die, Lord Stark. I shall not let you," the Princess told him, cool and determined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Currently writing a longer and super angsty romance fic (check it out if you can! https://archiveofourown.org/works/21109202) and then I decided to write something on the side that is faster paced, not quite so angsty, and is - hopefully - a bit more humorous. 
> 
> Not sure where this is going but more character tags (and perhaps relationships tags) will be added as the story progresses. Please leave a comment/kudos if you're interested!
> 
> (PS - It's not clear, IIRC, when Elia was summoned back to the capital from Dragonstone. This fic assumes Aerys called her back shortly after Brandon came calling for Rhaegar and she arrived just before Rickard and co did).


	2. A Bit of Theatre - or Death in Three Acts - Narrator/Elia

" _In the wake of Duskendale, the king also began to display signs of an ever-increasing obsession with dragonfire, similar to that which had haunted several of his forebears."_

* * *

The sun had descended long ago. Now all the light that filled the throne room was from the army of mounted torches along the walls. They shone of the dullest reds and oranges.

Aerys sat on the throne and watched as the three pyromancers entered the room, their steps quicker and more energetic than usual. That was quite a feat - as it was, they were already always eager to please their king and his fascination with their craft.

"Lord Rossart, what do you want? It is late for an audience." While the King may have enjoyed the pyromancers, his favor was fickle and his moods even more. "We aren't burning the Stark lordling yet. I want his brother and the other traitors to watch when we do," he decreed greedily.

"My gracious King, I apologize for the late hour. But this news could not be delayed,'' Rossart, the grand master, replied with a bow. Then he pulled out a piece of parchment from the folds of his robes.

Aerys raised his head up, his eyes peering down towards the parchment with curiosity. "Well, get on with it then."

"We received this letter from our brothers in Asshai, my King," he breathed with excitement. "They bring us most excellent tidings."

The Hand of the King spoke then. "Asshai? What do you mean?" Owen Merryweather asked, confusion apparent in the old man's voice and aged mind. It was amazing he even asked a question. Most thought the lord only equipped for laughing at the King's ill-humored japes. They weren't funny, not one bit, not in the slightest.

"Our Guild has a presence in Asshai, Lord Hand. We have not been in touch with them for some time, but they have become aware of our efforts to…" Then he looked to the King. "To bring back the creatures of our great King and his line. Dragons."

"Tell me," Aerys commanded tightly. _Will my dreams come to be? Shall I finally be given what am I owed from my ancestors?_

"Might someone be able to retrieve some of the stone eggs at Dragonstone, my King?" Rossart asked. "If these words are to be believed, we shall set them free at last."

"If you believe it true, then we shall retrieve one or two, Lord Rossart," the silver-haired King said steadily, though there was still an edge to his voice as always.

"You are, as always, ever gracious, my King," Rossart said with another obsequious bow. "I should note that…"

"Yes? Spit it out, man!" Aerys demanded.

For the first time since Merryweather could recall meeting him, Rossart looked apprehensive. Nervous.

Scared.

"The method is a bit...extreme," the grand master and Wisdom finally conceded.

Aerys hands clasped the throne, not noticing the blood that had started to stream from the blades against his skin. As his gaze centered on the parchment in Rossart's hand, a devious smile began to tug at the corner of his lips until it was so wide that all he could do was laugh.

* * *

Dinner tonight would not be what Elia had expected.

Though perhaps she had not actually known what to expect.

She fidgeted in her chair slightly, gently spearing a small piece of meat on her plate. As she lifted the fork to her mouth, she glanced up and met eyes with Rhaella who gave her a small smile.

"How do you find the meal tonight, good-daughter?" the Queen asked the Dornish princess casually.

"You should eat more," the King interjected brusquely. "You need to fatten up. Thought you would have more flesh on you after that baby. Lost it all already, did you?" he sneered.

Her face tightened as she sported a small smile. "You are ever wise, my King. I do need to eat more." He glowered at her before turning his attention to his own plate. Elia looked to Rhaella. "It's quite perfect, good-mother."

"At least I know this last babe is actually my son's, he has our look," the King muttered as he shoveled food in his mouth. "Not like the first one." Elia stifled the welling anger as her stomach tightened even more at his words.

It was then that there was a knock at the large door. The King looked up quickly, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "In! Come in!" Aerys barked as a crazed smile formed on his face, watching as Ser Jaime and Ser Barristan opened the door.

Elia and Rhaella exchanged a nervous glance.

Four men entered - three who were clearly from the Alchemist's Guild for these pyromancers were often - _too often_ \- at court. And the fourth...well, all Elia realized he held a harp. Looking at the instrument made her want to tear it into pieces. _Why couldn't it be a lute? By the Seven, even a drum would be better._ She could fall asleep to a snare drum better than a harp these days.

The King rose, both hands placed firmly on the table. He braced himself on them and leaned forward as his gaze bred fire staring at the pyromancers.

"Do you have everything?" he asked, with a sharp edge to his voice.

The three pyromancers nodded, nearly as excited as the King. "Yes, my King," Lord Rossart confirmed.

"To the throne room then," he hissed with a smile. He looked to Rhaella and then Elia. "You, too. Both of you."

Rhaella rose from her chair slowly, as did Elia, smoothing her dress as she began to walk towards her brother-husband. "What are we to see in the throne room, my King?" she asked evenly, though a gulp was audible to those that were closest.

She had barely spoken the words before a sharp slap against her face threw her down to the cold marble floor. She was left reeling, clutching her cheek. When she pulled her hand down slowly, she found blood on her palm.

"Quiet! You will find out when we get there," the King berated her. "Ungrateful woman," he hissed. As he walked out the doors leaving Rhaella behind, Eila rushed to her. The young Lannister knight looked at the two women with wide eyes before he was drawn away by Ser Barristan.

"Rhaella!" Elia whispered urgently, gently clasping her good-mother's shoulders. 

The Queen regained her composure, straightening herself back up. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a few deep breaths, before opening her eyes to look at her sweet good-daughter.

"This is but a scratch compared to his normal ways, my love," she said quietly. "Come, we should not keep him waiting." Elia placed her arm beneath Rhaella's, clasping her wrist firmly as she helped raise her up. When she was righted, they began to make their way to the throne room, their bodies supporting the other.

Aerys had taken a seat on the throne and the three pyromancers were on the steps below with the harpist to the side.

As Wisdoms Garigus and Belis meddled with a cart that was filled with bottles of liquids - _green_ , Elia noted - Lord Rossart moved to display something for the king.

With a flourish, he removed a piece of cloth covering an item in the other hand.

Gold and silver sparkled before them all.

_A dragon egg._

"Ah, yes," Aerys let out with eager contentment. "I know this egg. This shall do well. The perfect coloring for our dragons to be reborn."

Rossart answered the King with a slow and obsequious nod.

The harpist took a seat and glanced at the others before cautiously moving his eyes towards the King.

"You," Aerys commanded. "Play a tune. And make it better than those sad songs my ungrateful son is so fond of."

The harpist nodded hurriedly as he adjusted his instrument. He began with cautious notes, as though he was composing in the moment to illustrate the tension in the room.

"Now, shall we begin, Lord Rossart?" the King asked. Though it was, of course, a demand. He never truly asked.

The notes from the harp dripped slowly throughout the hall, echoing across the throne room like a babe making its first steps and hoping it would not fall.

Rossart walked towards Aerys, beckoning the other pyromancers to follow with their cart of goods. It clanked and squeaked as they wheeled it closer to the throne before finally stopping before the steps. Rossart closed the gap between himself and the cart and picked up a small item from it.

Elia eyed it from where she stood, finally deciphering that it was a dagger.

A Valyrian steel dagger.

"Shall..shall I do this for you, my King, or would you prefer to do it yourself?" Rossart asked hesitantly, though there was an edge of excitement in his voice nonetheless. Ser Barristan moved closer to the King then before he was waved off.

"Give it here," Aerys seethed as he grabbed the dagger from the lickspittle pyromancer's hands. "I can cut myself, I need no help."

It was a nearly true statement.

The music of the harp turned, a melody that was sweet but every so often hit a dissonant note. It was then that the Mad King brought the beautiful dagger to his palm and sliced it open.

"Well, bring the vial here! Quickly!" he screeched.

Ser Jaime looked at Barristan Selmy, his eyes questioning how long they would let this continue. But the older knight gave him no answer.

Garigus and Belis scrambled towards the throne, the latter holding the vial of green liquid, while the first brought clothes towards their King. Then Aerys brought his palm over the bottle of wildfire and let his blood fall in, drop by drop.

And the harpist adjusted his rhythm to the pace of the spilling blood. Purple eyes watched anxiously, earnestly, greedily, as red mingled with green, creating a dark brown.

As Elia watched, she wondered if her good-father was offended by the color before him.

"Well," the King uttered impatiently. "Is that enough?"

Rossart licked his lips, eyeing the vial before them. "Yes, yes. I think that shall do, my King."

Aerys wrenched his hand away and after snatching a cloth from Garigus, pressed it to his palm to staunch the blood. The whole time his eyes never strayed from the vial however.

Then Rossart picked up the dragon egg and using the dagger, he scraped pieces of the shell into the bottle that held the King's blood and wildfire. When it seemed to be enough, he placed the egg back on its pillow and eyed the vial. The light of the torches shone against it but could not pierce through the liquid inside.

"Here you are, your Grace. Once you have drunk this liquid, we must slice your palm once more so that the new mixture of your blood can be placed upon the egg while it burns," he uttered nervously. "According to our instructions."

Aerys grabbed the vial from him and without hesitation, drank it contents whole, gulp and after gulp. The harpist ceased his touches without command.

After finishing the contents, the King threw the bottle against the wall, shattering the glass to pieces. He panted for air as he wiped his lips with the sleeve of his dirty silk robe.

"It is done. I feel nothing. Why do I feel nothing, Rossart?" Wild purple eyes moved to the harpist in a flash. "You! I did not tell you to stop!

Frantic notes of the harp filled the air quickly. And then - and then, the nervous, tenuous music began to mingle in the air with a sound all too familiar to the hall - the crazed laughter of the King.

"Yes...yes!" he screeched, laughing. "I can FEEL it!" He rose from the throne unsteadily, his arm slicing against the throne as he moved a few steps away from it.

"This is it! I will burn and be reborn! Let it be done!" he yelled to the heavens as though the gods of old Valyria were there listening, just for him.

Of course, that was not what was about to occur. Quite the opposite, in fact. Perhaps it was the Gods' way of righting the King's wrongs by having him perish this way - after taking the lives of so many others by flame.

Perhaps it was just how it was meant to be.

And perhaps men create these paths of demise for themselves the moment they commit their ills upon others.

It was then that The Mad King's laughter took a sharp turn, strangling itself as the King seemed to grasp for air. His eyes went wider than anyone had ever seen, and steadily purple was overtaken by red.

"Ross-a-" the King croaked, his hands frantically scraping at his throat. His long, dirty nails sliced at the pale, thin skin of his throat, drawing blood and flesh with each movement.

Rhaella screamed at the Kingsguard to do something, to help their King. Her screaming command broke the knights out of their shock and they moved to the King quickly. But their swords could be of no use now.

The King swirled around, his feet dancing in a circle as the wildfire he loved so dearly moved through his body, bit by bit, letting him experience it as no one should. Finally his body fell below the Iron Throne like an offering.

And then Aerys of House Targaryen, the second of his name, died. A puff of smoke left his lips as he left this earth.

Silence claimed the room but for jagged breaths of shock and the small fizzles from the King's body as the wildfire continued to work its way through him.

After a few moments, Rhaella turned to the pyromancers finally. "What have you done," she hissed.

Rossart balked and then silence claimed the air once more before he finally spoke. "The instructions were clear as day, my Queen! I swear to you!"

"Is this clear?" she inquired with fury, gesturing to the body of the King. "This information was clearly false, Lord Rossart," Rhaella seethed. 

"It was our brother alchemists in Asshai, my Queen!" he testified earnestly. "We received the letter not that long ago!"

"Asshai?" Rhaella questioned. "What cause would they have to involve themselves with the affairs of Westeros pray tell?"

But the pyromancer had no answer. He looked at the body of the King, limp, skin beginning to bubble, before his pleading eyes went back to the silver woman before him.

"Ser Barristan, seize these men!" the Queen commanded. "And hand me the letter, I want to know what it said."

As the pyromancers were led away and the King's body fizzled from the wildfire within, Elia wondered if the harp had been more fitting for the moment after all.

* * *

Elia and Rhaella sat in the Queen's solar, sipping wine. It was quiet but for their breaths and the sounds of the fire in the hearth before them.

"How do you fare?" Elia asked quietly.

Rhaella looked to her, her expression thoughtful, though her face did not betray her mind enough to answer without words spoken.

"I don't even know, Elia. Truly." She looked away from her then, her eyes losing themselves as they looked into the flames.

"I just feel like I'm waiting to feel...a release. I thought that when the day came, when this world was finally rid of him, that it would feel so sweet. And yet all I can feel is a knot in my stomach."

Elia leaned forward in her chair and gently clasped Rhaella's hand in hers. "He can do you no harm now," Elia assured her. "Or anyone else."

The silver queen closed her eyes, letting out a shuddered breath. "I know, you are right." Then she opened her eyes once more, weary. "Now we must prepare ourselves for Baratheon, Arryn and the other Stark I should think."

"And Rhaegar," Elia added.

"Yes...yes," Rhaella pondered. "Tywin will no doubt make a move now." 

The fire crackled in the hearth.

"If it's not one man, it's another, isn't it?" Elia remarked dryly.

Rhaella raised her goblet of wine to Elia and the glasses clinked with a nearly silent cheer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna caution now - this isn't going to be some big political fic. Just trying to write something entertaining.


	3. Is it ever truly calm before a storm? - Elia/Brandon

Aerys was dead.

 _Finally. He's truly gone,_ Elia thought to herself as she walked through the Red Keep.

_It should feel better, lighter - and yet…_

Rhaella was right. It just felt like they were waiting for chaos to truly begin its reign.

Elia had thought long and hard about how to move forward. As she walked through the hallways of the Red Keep to where Brandon Stark's room lay, she knew the northern lord would be crucial.

 _Will Aerys’s death be enough for the North? Or is war inevitable?_ Each step she took along the marble steps felt heavier and heavier but she continued.

_The children will not be safe if we cannot find a safe path forward._

With her children on her mind, she squared her shoulders as she arrived at Brandon's door, took a deep breath and knocked. Hearing his voice, she entered and her eyes went to the bed where she assumed she would find him. But movement quickly drew her gaze to the window where he stood, turning to face her as she entered.

"Princess," he said with a small bow of his head, his voice still slightly strained from the strangle device.

"Lord Stark," she greeted him as the guard pulled the door close behind her. "I came to see how you fare and…" She straightened her spine. "Give you some news."

He regarded her for a moment before speaking. His eyes held both glee and anger in them at once, a look that reminded her of Oberyn somehow. "I heard about the King."

"You heard?" she blurted. "How?" It had only happened last night, and she hadn't even broken her fast yet. And they'd only sent the ravens out to great houses that morning.

He looked away for a moment but she could have sworn she saw a smirk on his face. "News like that flies quickly, even if you're stuck in one room." 

She tilted her head to the side, studying him, before speaking again. "Well, now that you know, we can discuss what comes next," she said, clearing her throat and gesturing for him to take a seat. He acknowledged her with a nod and took a seat on the edge of the bed. 

Taking a seat in a chair by his bed, Elia smoothed the soft emerald silk of her gown and was about to ask who gave him the news before Brandon spoke. 

"So is it true?" he asked a bit hoarsely before she could even begin. "Did he truly drink wildfire?"

She nodded before speaking, her eyes dulling as her mind went back to the sight from just the night before. "Yes...mixed with his own blood."

"What?" he yelled and then quickly winced in pain, grabbing his throat. 

Elia nearly moved to him to make sure he was well but kept herself seated. "He seemed to think that would...make it safe for him, I suppose." It, of course, did not.

"What mad man told him that would work??" he asked incredulously. Indeed, who had truly told the pyromancers such foolish information? 

"An answer we'll come to eventually," she replied evenly and then leaned forward a bit. "How are you? Has the pain lessened any?"

His hand ghosted over his throat where the bandage was. "It's a bit better. Wine helps," he laughed, wincing again slightly.

"May I see it? The wound?" she asked hesitantly. _It cannot get infected, I did not save him only for him to die from an infection._

Brandon was slightly taken aback, but nodded slowly. _Well, she did save me_ , Brandon thought to himself.

She rose and walked to him and slowly unwrapped the linen around his throat. Brandon watched her with curiosity as she peered at his neck, gently moving him by the shoulders to inspect it.

"You look tired," he commented matter of factly, causing her to pause her inspection for a moment.

"Well," she began with an amused shake of her head. "Thank you for that blunt assessment, Lord Stark," she said dryly. "I'm still recovering from a trying birth."

Brandon seemed to have the good sense then to wince at his slight impertinence before Elia continued. "And after all, I did watch a King burn himself from the inside out and die last night."

He growled lowly. "I would have given anything to have seen that. Though I would have rather killed him myself."

 _Men and their blood thirst_ , Elia thought wearily. "With that image in your brain - and when the fate of your children hangs in the balance - it all makes it rather hard to achieve a night of restful sleep."

"Your children?" he asked, confused at the addition. "What's wrong with them?"

Her hands faltered then and she seemed stunned at his words. "Do you think me stupid and blind, Lord Stark?"

His mouth gaped open and if he hadn't been wounded, he would have leapt up and yelled at her. "No!" he croaked. He tried not to clench his jaw so his neck would not tense or strain. Calming himself, he let out a frustrated sigh. "I just do not understand what they have to do with this...your grace."

“They have everything to do with... _this_ ,” she exhaled in mild exasperation before returning to look at his neck. "I know of the North's alliance with the other houses, I would be a fool not to," she said studiously, as she craned her head to look at the back of his neck. "An alliance that - combined with what my oh-so-kind good-father, the King, did to your father - could very much put my children's future at risk."

"Your children," he mumbled quietly, looking away from her. "Rhaegar's children."

" _My_ children, Lord Stark," she stated quietly but the kind of ferocity his father used to use to force him to see reason. It snapped his eyes to hers and gods, did she hold his gaze like a warrior. 

"Rhaegar barely spent anytime with Aegon before he rode off. He left us, knowing the King hated me - how dangerous he was; knowing that other lords are already working against the crown." She lowered her eyes to his neck then, resuming her inspection. "They may be Targaryens but they stopped being his children when he rode off with your sister," she finished quietly. "A parent does not abandon their child."

 _A parent does not abandon their child_ , he repeated in his head. _Like father. He did not abandon me._

He tore himself from that painful thought, the violent memory that made him want to burn away too, and looked up at the Dornish princess. It was much easier to think of all Targaryens as being Aerys's and Rhaegar's spawn. _Gods, it's easier not to think of them at all, let alone as the children of Elia Martell._ He liked this woman. _She saved me. I am alive because of her._

In truth, he thought he knew what his father’s plans with the other lords were, but he wondered if he knew the true extent. But as he began to think - to _truly_ think like his father told him he would need to do as Lord of Winterfell - he realized she was right. _With father dead and Lyanna gone...Robert...the North…_

He let out a deep groan of exhaustion. _This isn't as simple as it seemed when I rode here. Rode here like a fool,_ he cursed himself.

"Do you know if my brother received my raven at least?" Perhaps that might bring them back from the precipice of chaos.

She began to rewrap the linen carefully, seemingly satisfied with what she saw. "We have not received any word from him yet, so I can only hope that he did, Lord Stark," she said softly.

"Brandon."

Her hands dropped away from his neck as she looked at him with slightly owlish eyes.

"Please call me, Brandon," he added, fidgeting slightly. _Gods, why am I getting uncomfortable? It's just my name. And Father is Lord Stark. Was…_

Then he closed his eyes for a moment. _I am Lord Stark now though - and I now have to decide how to get justice for father, for the North. Gods, if Ned did not get my raven but he knows of father...have the banners been called already?_

Elia regarded him for a moment, standing by him as he sat on the bed. As he looked up at her, a question began to spin in his mind and he did not know what to make of it - was it possible for them to be on the same side?

"Well, Brandon, your throat looks better than it did before," she told him, gently clasping her hands in front of her. 

_Ever proper_ , he thought. It did not escape him that she did not say he could call her by her name. He was about to dare to ask when a knock came at the door.

Elia called for them to enter, and a guard walked in, giving her a quick bow. "Beg your pardon, your grace, your daughter is here with her septa."

A small smile crossed Elia's lips even as an exasperated but amused sigh escaped. "Of course, show them in," she replied kindly, taking a seat once more.

The door had barely opened more before a blur of purple cloth and brown hair ran towards her, chanting 'mama' over and over.

Dressed in a light purple dress, Princess Rhaenys clambered into her mother's lap and wrapped her arms around her neck, burying her face into her hair. "Mama," the toddler said, her small voice muffled in dark hair.

"I'm sorry, your grace," her septa came in, huffing. "She refused to eat without you."

Elia waved her away kindly with a smile. "It's fine, I'd like to eat with her as well." Letting out a sigh of exhaustion, the septa curtsied before leaving.

Brandon watched as Elia closed her eyes and hugged her daughter, laughing lightly. She looked more free in that moment than in any of the moments they had spent together. 

"Good morrow, little sun." Then she pulled back a bit from their embrace to look down at her daughter and placed both hands on her cheeks so their eyes met. "Are you well?"

"Wanted you," Rhaenys pouted. Then she looked at her with expectant eyes."Food?"

"Of course, my love. Lord Stark and I were just finishing talking to each other," she told her daughter, nodding towards Brandon.

Rhaenys then turned herself around on her mother's lap to look at the stranger. Dark indigo eyes appraised him cautiously.

"Stuck?" she said, testing the word.

Brandon let out a small bark of laughter. "Almost, Princess. Stark," he corrected her.

Her face scrunched as she examined him from her perch. Then in a flash, she had scrambled down and crossed to the bed, climbing up next to the northern lord.

She looked at him as though she were trying to make sense of him before picking up a swathe of his hair. "Dark," Rhaenys said, pressing his dark brown hair next to her slightly lighter shade as she stood up on the bed where he was seated. 

The northerner looked at the precocious child, bemused. "Did you not know, Princess? I'm a wolf." Rhaenys's eyes went wider than Elia had ever seen then. "And when I howl at night, the sky makes my hair dark," he said with a grin which the little girl returned with one of her own in excitement. Then her smile fell as she looked at his neck. 

"Hurt?" she asked with concerned eyes. 

"Aye, just a bit," he replied gently.

Rhaenys placed a kiss on her palm and then touched his neck carefully. "Better?" she asked hopefully.

He let out a small but incredulous laugh. "Much better, thank you for your help," he told her with warm smile.

"Lord Stark," Elia interjected, trying to hide a smile. "Let me formally introduce you to my daughter, Princess Rhaenys."

The small girl straightened at that, looking at Brandon with her chin raised.

"Princess," Brandon said dramatically. Then he took her hand in his and placed a small kiss on her knuckles. Rhaenys erupted in giggles before snatching her hand away and climbing off the bed. Her laughter continued as she ran to her mother and buried her face in her lap. She turned her head a bit to peek at him, and when he inclined his head to peer at her, she buried herself back into her mother.

"I would like to talk more, Lo- Brandon," she began, both of them smiling a bit at the correction. "But I believe I need to see to this one's morning meal."

He stood up then, clasping his hands behind his back. "Of course, I appreciate you checking on me, Princess." He paused for a moment. "But yes, there is much to be...sorted out."

She appraised him for a moment before turning her attention to her daughter once more. "Come, my love. What shall we eat this morning?"

"Eggs for Egg!" Rhaenys squealed with a large smile. Elia gave her a kiss on the cheek before standing with the excited toddler in her arms. 

Brandon walked them out but as they got to the door, Elia paused with her hand above the knob and then turned to face him. 

“Who told you about -” she glanced at Rhaenys briefly before continuing, “about what happened last night?”

He let out a small laugh and then bent his head down to the space in between Elia and Rhaenys’s heads, whispering into the younger princess’s ear. "A secret for you, little Princess - maids say quite a lot when they think you are asleep," he told her quietly, earning an excited giggle from Rhaenys, as he pulled his head back and met Elia’s eyes. 

He held the Dornish princess's gaze for a few moments - the two adults studying the other - before Elia broke the moment, clearing her throat and taking a small step back. Then she summoned a small smile and rolled her eyes at him. “Don't give her ideas, please,” she chastised good-naturedly, and the wild wolf replied with a cheeky grin.

Before the two royals could leave, Rhaenys interjected. "Stuck!" she exclaimed. “Come?"

Elia unsuccessfully stifled a snort of laughter as she looked from her daughter to Brandon. "Well, what do you say, Brandon? Would you like to join us as we break our fast?"

It had been difficult for him to eat much after because of his wound, but he was finally starting to improve and not feel as weak. And more than that, he found himself wanting to spend more time with Princess Elia. 

"I would be honored," he replied and then turned with a wolfish grin to Rhaenys, "Princess." The gesture and smile garnered another squeal from the young girl who hugged her mother to hide her face again.

"Off we go, then," Elia said, gesturing for him to exit the room with them. "Perhaps with nourishment of our stomachs and souls, an answer will be easier to find."

As he followed Elia through the door, Brandon’s mind swirled with questions, of decisions that would need to be made, of possible allies with brave hearts - and what lay ahead for them all now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a bit of filler and way more serious than I was intending or hoping to do, but hopefully lighter and funnier bits to come next (I hope). Also Rhaenys is around 1.5 years old here (but I maybe have given her the speaking skills of a 2-2.5 year old - shrug).
> 
> One more note - one reviewer on FF.net was apparently upset because Brandon cried in the first chapter (lol) - **even though he had just watched his father be killed.** So lemme say this: I feel like we always see the same portrayals of Brandon when we don't actually know too much about him beyond the fact he was wild, handsome and rash. So I'm trying to look at this from the question of - what would Brandon be like if he had watched his father die and now had to question if his actions led to that, not just Lyanna's? So before people get into a tizzy about Brandon not being 'soft' or emotional in canon, that's what's up here.
> 
> Also I don't like doing solo POVS, sorry if it's confusing! I prefer to bounce between people's thoughts ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> In any case, drop a kudos or comment if you're into this randomness


	4. A Game Unknown - Eddard

Eddard stared at the skies above. 

The stars formed shapes that the Maester at the Vale had taught him of, but he did not remember their names - just their forms, ones that never wavered - as long as he knew when to look up. With his eyes turned high, he could be at Winterfell; he could be at the Vale. The sky was always the same, and he could pretend that he understood where home truly was. 

He’ll never understand why his father sent him to foster in the Vale, but he felt grateful for it in so many ways. And even with some visits home, for so many years the Eyrie was all he knew. Jon Arryn became a father and Robert a brother. 

It did not replace Rickard Stark or Brandon, or Benjen and Lyanna. But still. _Where was home?_

Questions and ruminating on home were easier to mull than the torrent of news that had swept over him in the past two months. 

_Lyanna kidnapped._

_Father dead and no word of Brandon._

_Then Brandon was alive! And the King was dead._

_Madness._

They had camped not far off from the Kingsroad - he, Robert, Lord Arryn with some of their guards and men. They were making good time already since they left Riverrun. The last comfortable bed they’d had was at the Inn at the crossroads. Hoster Tully had accompanied them from his keep to the inn and stayed with them for the night before planning to return home in the morn. And that was where another tide threw itself upon him, leaving him floundering yet again, struggling to breathe, to understand, this new world he found himself in. 

Robert was inside, a serving wench on his lap, as he caroused with some of the other men. Ned had gone outside to relieve himself and just rest his mind from the headache of it all. As he walked back from the woods, he heard voices and stopped in his tracks, hiding his presence. 

“I am glad Elbert lives, Jon. But we must think of what comes next - you and I both know Aerys being dead changes everything,” he’d heard Lord Tully say in the shadows by the horses. 

“Of course it does, Hoster, I’m not a fool,” Jon whispered with a hiss. “The Prince is not a suitable option, of course. But it won't be as straightforward with Aerys gone so quickly.” 

Hoster raised his head with a confident look in his eyes. “We still make the turn we had already spoken of - with Robert.” 

“How can we? And I haven’t told him yet,” Jon murmured. “I’m not sure how he will respond.” 

“What could the boy be opposed to?” the Lord of Riverrun asked incredulously. “He would be King!” 

Eddard had stumbled backwards, feeling like he had lost his footing. 

_Robert as King?_

That couldn’t have been what his father wanted, could it? That would have made Lyanna a queen. Surely their father could not have meant for that? She was as much meant for that as he was a King’s Hand. And was there not a young babe, the son of Elia Martell and Rhaegar? What of him? 

“Where is Tywin?” Jon asked quietly. 

“Still sequestered at the Rock. He’s yet to make a move,” Hoster grumbled. “His loyalties are yet to be known. As always. And he’ll want compensation - and I speak not of money, we both know that.” 

He watched Jon closed his eyes with a sigh. “Hoster, the boy is mad about the Stark girl. He won’t take the lioness - nor either of your girls.” 

Tully fixed him with a stern glare. “We’ll have to wait and see. In any case - don’t think Tywin will pass up the chance to finally get his blood on the throne - even if it takes a Baratheon by Targaryen a few generations removed.” 

Ned listened to them speak in their whispers and strategies to sculpt the future. He rubbed his face with his hands, trying to rid himself of the deluge of a conspiracy he could not wrap his head around. He also felt like a fool, forgetting that Robert’s grandmother was a Targaryen. He supposed everyone else did too - until it was convenient to remember. He made his way back to the Inn, his mind spinning with questions of plans and plots - and his family split across the whole of Westeros.

As he stared at the skies now at their camp, all of it made him think of a game he had been introduced to at Harrenhal. They had not passed it long ago. Though he would not let his thoughts dwell on all the troubles that had begun there. 

The Dornish contingent had brought a game with them - and listening to Jon and Hoster speak had made him feel like he was playing it - cyvasse, she had said it was called.

Ashara had laughed at him - soft and light as the moon - when he was forced to play. 

"Oh, Eddard,” she had said with a small chuckle. “I’m not sure how well you would take to what you call the South.” 

He’d gazed at her, trying to remember not to stare too hard - though failing. “Oh? Why is that?” 

She tilted her head to the side, studying him - but there was warmth there. “Because one must learn to think as though they are playing this game if they are to survive here.” 

“I think you are right, my lady."

"It is best to study this game before playing, but there was no time, I suppose," she said, looking at the board before looking back at him.

His eyes looked at the pieces before him, only seeing figures from Old Nan's tales. "Still," he told her. "I'm not sure I'm made for such play - unless I had help.” A large smile crossed her face before looking to the board as she made her next move. 

After Brandon pushed him to dance with her, she had shown him this game. He had never made any sense of it. But still - everything had seemed so simple then - before a crown of blue flowers threw everything into chaos. 

He used to like winter roses - now it only felt as though they symbolized darkness and uncertainty. 

“Ned!” Robert’s booming and muddled voice called out to him, breaking him out of the maze of his thoughts. The Baratheon lord stumbled over to him as the fire danced around the campsite. “What are you staring at? The sky won’t talk back to you.” 

Ned sighed. The smell of wine and sweat assaulted him, and he could only gaze at his friend, his brother by bond though not blood, with pity and frustration. This was how he was after he returned to the Eyrie following the death of his parents. _I suppose we all respond to grief in our own way._

“I was just having a think, that’s all, Robert,” he told him with a weak smile. 

“You think too much, Ned!” Robert bellowed with a laugh. 

Eddard now wondered if he didn’t think enough. 

His eyes turned to his friend then, who had grown quiet, staring at the ground. Ned placed a hand on his shoulder softly. “Are you well, Robert?” 

His friend shook his head, as though he were waking up, lost in some mists. He blinked at Ned for a few moments. “Where do you think Lyanna is, Ned? Why did Brandon not say more of her in his letter?” 

_Brandon’s letter._ It had been a gift. The relief and pure, unadulterated joy Ned felt to know his brother was alive - he had no words. 

After hearing their conversation and as they rode along the Kingsroad, Eddard found himself wondering if Jon and Hoster Tully were truly happy that Brandon was still alive - but he banished the question away. The Riverlands lord had called his brother a ‘gallant fool’ and wanted Ned to marry his daughter as soon as news came of their father. But he had refused, saying they did not yet know Brandon’s fate and he could not yet take his brother’s place. 

_Catelyn, Winterfell_ \- that was for Brandon, not him. 

“I don’t know why Brandon did not say more of Lyanna, Robert,” Eddard answered gently. “But it must be enough for now to know that she is safe and alive - just as he wrote.” It was all his brother had written of their sister - though how he knew, he said not.

“Yes, yes,” he said, nodding his head quickly. “You're right. Brandon is alive, Aerys is dead. And we'll find Lyanna soon.” The softness in his eyes disappeared, replaced by an intense blue storm. “Then Rhaegar is mine.” 

As they walked back to their tents, Eddard had the distinct feeling that nothing would be as simple as Robert’s words - and that they were all pieces being moved by forces beyond they truly did not understand. 

He looked up at the sky before retreating to his tent for the night - the shapes were still there, still the same. At least he could hold onto that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that was so short. I hadn't planned on an Eddard chapter and then it just came out today. I think cyvasse was actually not in Westeros this early but..I'm rolling with that for the time being. Aiming to start updating this fic once a week depending on RL


	5. The Longest Day, Part 1 - Elia

Within a few moments of waking up, Elia could feel the edges of the day fraying already. In fact, she had the distinct feeling today she would feel like one of those jugglers at a tourney - the ones who toss oranges and apples in the air quickly, trying not to drop them. 

_Gods, how quickly will this day fall from my hands?_

Today they would inter the ashes of Aerys in the Great Sept of Baelor. After helping her dress in a black gown, her maid did her hair in an elegant single braid, a few strands framing her bronze face delicately, and Elia clasped small ruby earrings on. As she exited her chambers to begin the day, she greeted her Kingsguard on duty. 

“Good morning, Ser Jaime,” she told the young lion.

“A good ‘ _mourning_ ,’ indeed, my Queen,” he said with a small smile. 

Even if the day would be unruly, a jape like that was needed. “You are quite daring, good ser,” she told him with a raised eyebrow. 

“You don’t mind though, do you?” he asked cautiously but she could tell he already knew the answer. 

Elia shook her head at him but her eyes were warm and bright. “I think you already know the answer to that.” 

Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell had disappeared with Rhaegar on his ‘sojourn’ with Lyanna Stark. And while they would rotate now and then, Ser Jaime usually stayed with Elia, Lord Commander Hightower and Ser Llewyn with Aegon and Rhaenys, and Ser Barristan and Jonothor with Rhaella and Viserys now that they were all in the capital together. 

As Elia and Jaime walked through the Red Keep, she could tell the young knight wanted to ask her something. He kept opening his mouth to speak and then closing it. And so she paused their passage. 

“What is it?” she asked quietly, placing a hand on his metal-covered arm. 

He was always so sarcastic or irreverent with her. The friendship between their mothers had passed down to the two of them as well, and she was glad for it. But she was not used to seeing him so quiet, almost...vulnerable. 

“Is it wrong that I feel so relieved he is gone? That I feel no...remorse?” he asked in a whisper. 

Her face shifted into understanding then. “Oh, Jaime,” Elia breathed quietly. “No, it is not wrong. I suspect everyone in this city feels the same.” 

The young knight looked at her for a moment, as though to make sure she was not jesting with him. Seeing she was true, his expression eased. 

“Shall we?” he asked, extending one arm to her. 

She took his offering with both a smile and a tired groan. “If we must.” 

And so the day began at the Great Sept where they interred the late King’s ashes. Given the state his body had been in following the...incident, waiting to burn his body until Rhaegar’s return had simply not been an option. The children had not attended the pyre burning in the dragon pit, but both Elia and Rhaella had decided that while Aegon would remain in the nursery guarded by his great-uncle and Ser Barristan, Rhaenys and Viserys would attend this final ceremony. Once it was finished, the family ascended from the tombs into the main area of the sept with the High Septon. 

The sun was particularly bright that day, its rays piercing through the colored glass and hitting the crystal crown of the High Septon. It managed to create a series of small dancing rainbows on the marbled floor as he walked with the royal family and as soon as Rhaenys noticed, she squirmed down from her grandmother’s arms to chase what looked like magic to the toddler. It was only a few moments before Viserys joined her, the two laughing as the High Septon seemed to move to encourage the game. 

“You are kind to indulge them,” Elia told him warmly.

“Well, it is nice to see the glow of young life here,” the thin man replied. “They were very attentive during the ceremony, it is the least I can do.” The streams of colors continued, the children trying to catch them in their hands, as the trio of adults walked slowly through the sept. “Will your normal visits to the orphanages take place this week, Your Grace? It has greatly lifted the spirits of the children since you began them upon your return from Dragonstone,” he asked Elia. 

She did not know the High Septon well, a thin man with a brown beard that was sprinkled with greys. But since she had come back to the capital, she had made a point of visiting the Sept often and establishing a constant schedule with the orphanages. That had at least formed a bit of a bond she hoped would provide a solid foundation for a new reign. _Though...the Highest ones are often the least holy,_ she thought. But this one seemed to be true. 

At least, near as ‘true’ ever is. 

“Yes, I shall be visiting. Now more than ever, it seems important to give some...consistency,” Elia replied. “I believe you were going to attend as well, is it not so, good-mother?” 

“That’s correct. It has been...difficult as of late to be able to find time to leave the Keep, but not anymore.” The High Septon was no fool. It was clear what the change was. 

“And…” He paused their walking then as his tone turned serious. “When might we expect...the new King?” 

_When will he return after kidnapping or running off with a young girl, you mean to ask_ , Elia thought. _Perhaps we should pray on it._

“Within days, I am sure,” Rhaella replied confidently and with a smile. Elia plastered one on her face as well, though she knew they both truly did not have any honest answer to give the man. _We both are good mummers._

“Splendid,” he answered, though was not entirely sure he was convinced. “Please let me know when we might expect to conduct the coronation.” 

Affirming he would know as soon as possible, they bid him goodbye before Rhaella beckoned to the youths to leave, and Rhaenys ran into her grandmother’s arms excitedly. “Did you like the rainbows, my sun dragon?” she asked the toddler as she picked her up, tucking a curl of hair behind her ear. Rhaenys nodded eagerly as she hugged her.

Elia extended her hand to Viserys with a smile, the young boy taking it quickly. 

“We match, Aunt Elia,” he said studiously but with a small smile. “You and me, mother and Rhae.” 

Her heart swelled at his sweet observation. Rhaella had been sparse in what she told her youngest child - simply saying the King had gone away to a better place. To their relief, he seemed to take the development well, though clinging to his mother and aunt more. 

“Are you sure you don’t mind carrying her?” Elia asked her good-mother as they began to walk outside. 

Rhaella smiled, running a hand through Rhaenys’s hair. “On the contrary,” she replied, exhaling with content. “It gives me much pleasure, Elia. _She_ does.” Seeing some lightness and energy return to the dowager Queen, a return long overdue, was another balm to her. When Aerys was alive, Rhaella was nearly restricted from spending time with Rhaenys. But now she could indulge to her heart’s content. 

Beyond that, both of Elia’s parents had passed, and somehow seeing Rhaenys bond with a grandparent worthy of the love gave her strength. 

Three of the Kingsgaurd and a large host of gold cloaks accompanied them as they made their way down the steps, the black dresses of both women trailing behind them, and a large crowd having assembled and cheering for the royal family. 

“I am to meet with Brandon Stark today, he is nearly healed,” Elia said to Rhaella, leaning over so she could be heard over the noise of the crowd but waving with her free hand all the while. “I am going to return…” she took a moment before she continued. “I am going to give him his father’s remains.” 

“Oh, Elia,” Rhaella lamented. “Would you like me to be there?” 

“I think I shall be fine alone. I am more concerned about the other pending arrivals,” she said as quietly as she could while still being heard. 

As they got to the carriage, Rhaella paused before entering. “Well, one part of the past has been laid to rest. Let us see what we can do about the future.” 

* * *

“I should not have come here.” 

Elia looked at Brandon Stark with trepidation, wondering if she had somehow misstepped.

“If I had not come to this pit of a city,” he continued, his voice low, “perhaps my father might still be alive.” 

Absorbing the utter pain that was apparent on his face, no matter how much he tried to conceal it, her thoughts began to run. 

“My brother would have done the same,” she told him quietly, in an attempt at consolation. “Or he would have tried at least, I have no doubt. Love for family often consumes any rational bone we possess.” 

Brandon looked at her, his eyes grateful and large with emotion, though his face remained tight. Then he turned his gaze back to the chest that contained his father’s remains. He was glad in grey and black, normal for his house, but it seemed to fit the occasion as well. 

“So many people stood by and did nothing. How do we give one man so much power?” the young lord seethed, his face a storm of fury and pure loss. 

_How, indeed._ “Come, why don’t we go to my solar, it’s just next door,” Elia beckoned softly. His eyes remained on the chest for a few moments before he nodded slightly, acquiescing. 

When they entered the room, Elia brought him to a small table where a pitcher of wine sat. As he took a seat, he closed his eyes wearily while she poured him a glass. 

“Here, I think you need that,” she told him, pushing the goblet to him before pouring one for herself and taking a seat. 

He paused before taking a long, deep sip. As he brought the goblet down, he wiped his lips and dark beard with the back of his hand. Then his eyebrows raised in acknowledgment. “It’s good,” he stated somberly. 

“Dornish.” 

That earned her a small laugh which brought the slightest bit of lightness to his face. 

“Your brother will be here soon,” Elia informed him after a few moments of silence. “I believe he is accompanied by Lord Baratheon and Lord Arryn.” She took a slow sip as she observed him. 

Brandon let out a small groan. “He did not need to come, it would have been better for him to go to Winterfell. Ben is all alone, barely more than a bairn, he is.” His last words came out laced with a hint of worry. 

Elia observed him for a moment before looking out the window. She wondered how close or far their newest guests were to arriving. “It seems they had already started making their way south after receiving the summons from Aerys for your...‘trial.’ But I do believe he received your raven - at Riverrun, in fact. I imagine your brother wants to set eyes on you. And Lord Baratheon....” 

“Robert, gods,” he said with a deep exhale. “I wrote to Ned that Lyanna was...safe. Neither need come here, nor Lord Arryn. Elbert is perfectly well. Though I suppose Lord Arryn may be the only one who can control Robert,” he muttered. Then he looked to Elia, watching her for a moment. “There's still been no word from them, is there?”

“No, we tasked...someone....with locating them and relaying the events here,” she replied evenly, pushing some stray dark brown strands of hair away from her face.

“Once we have Lyanna back, we will leave,” he declared quietly but with a sharp edge all the same. Elia wondered if he even questioned if his sister would want to leave, but she did not voice that thought. “Elbert and the others will be glad to leave, as well,” he continued. 

She nodded in acknowledgment, taking another sip of wine. Somehow there was an odd space of familiarity with him and she didn't know why. It was puzzling, unnerving and hopeful all at once

“So, Brandon,” she asked, calling him by his name as he had requested before. “What comes next?”

“As I said, your husband returns my sister to me, for one.” 

“And then?”

“And then…” He sighed, looking up to the ceiling. “How do I get justice? It feels impossible with that mangy devil of a King dead now.” He tilted his head back down and looked over to her. “What options am I left with?”

Elia looked to him and as she absorbed the expression directed at her, intense and purposeful eyes, she realized something - he was genuinely asking her, not just pondering into the air. All of a sudden she felt like she was in a small boat by herself in the middle of the ocean, unsure where to go. The truth was, she did not know. Nothing felt satisfactory or like it could be enough. _Aerys is dead - what was recompense or justice now? It would almost be easier if he were alive._

“Well, as you said, to start with, Rhaegar and Lyanna return.” She chose her phrasing carefully. _Would the girl want to return? Another thought for another time._ “And then you negotiate with him. Even if Aerys is dead, the North is owed for what happened to your father. That much is clear to all.” She did not feel like she was being treasonous in offering him that counsel as it truly did seem obvious. 

“Aye,” he growled. “Your husband will pay, make no mistake.” Elia could tell that as soon as he said it, even he was slightly taken aback. _Has the wolf tamed himself a bit,_ she wondered? She also wondered if he meant for all Targaryens to pay, including her own children. _We’ve become a sort of friends, he and I. I hope he thinks so too._

The northern lord regarded her for a few moments, almost as if he were studying her - or reading her thoughts. Then his posture seemed to relax as though he had settled on a course of action. “I don’t know if I’ll remain very calm in his presence. Perhaps you should be there to ensure it all goes smoothly,” he stated, almost like a dare - or was it an assurance? 

The uncrowned Queen laughed then, her own shoulders easing. It was a rare sensation, truth be told. “Oh? What would I add to that meeting?” She would be at that meeting, of course, but she was curious for his answer nonetheless. 

Brandon looked at her, his eyes penetrating. “Perhaps I’ll need a reminder of my debt owed,” he stated with sincerity. That statement brought an immense relief to Elia, more than he probably could imagine. 

Then the wild wolf’s expression turned to one of curiosity. “And I suspect you have some ideas and suggestions, Your Grace. In fact, I suspect you’re quite full of ideas, more than you let on.” 

Elia scoffed lightly at his remark and the mild cheek of it, one hand smoothing the skirt of her dress in her lap. It was her own way of exercising her nerves. “Is this what you do, Brandon? Try and charm women into agreeing with you?” she asked dryly. 

“Try?” he asked in mock offense, his cool grey eyes appraising her. “Well, no one could ever accuse you of succumbing, could they, Elia?” 

“I don’t know, I suppose you’ll have to see, won’t you?” She replied, turning her eyes to her glass as she took another sip, though she could feel his gaze on her. She enjoyed their banter, though Elia didn’t know if it was the wine or him addressing her so informally that made her answer as she did just then. _No, definitely the wine. I’ve just had near a full glass of wine without eating today. Gods._

She placed the goblet on the table and took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment. The breeze from the window washed over her along with moving rays of the sun. 

“Black does not suit you,” he said suddenly, breaking her thoughts, as he looked over her. 

“Pardon?” she blurted, her shoulders tightening slightly. _I mourn in black for someone whose death only brings me joy._ “Why is that?” she asked. 

“Darkness does not become you, Your Grace,” he amended, his voice lower before he took a long sip of his wine. When he finished, he looked back to her. “It seems too harsh for you, I mean.” The way he held her gaze suddenly made her feel like she was being taken apart - but in a good way. 

And then it dawned on her. 

“You’re deflecting,” Elia told him, her dark amber eyes meeting his grey ones firmly.

Now it was his turn to be caught off guard. “I’m what?” 

“You’re deflecting,” she repeated steadily. “To avoid...how you feel.” 

Brandon looked away from her, staring at the goblet of wine and letting one finger trace the circular top around and around. “Is that so bad?” he asked with a rueful smile before he stood to fill his goblet once more. 

If it wouldn’t have been highly improper, she would have embraced him, comforted him. But instead she only spoke. “No,” she answered gently, looking up at him, her eyes soft. “It is never bad to seek a reprieve from grief, Brandon.” 

And then the raven-haired man stared at her again, though this time his gaze was a storm of vulnerability, longing - and something more burning that she could not quite place. 

Or that it was best not to. 

By some miracle, they were interrupted with a knock at the door, and Elia could not have been more grateful. 

She stood up swiftly. “Enter!” she called, her voice cracking as though she were a greenboy on the verge of manhood. 

Ser Jaime entered and if he caught onto the odd feeling in the air, he did not let on. “Lords Stark, Baratheon and Arryn have arrived, my Queen.” 

“Ah, yes, thank you, Ser Jaime,” she said in a rush. The Lannister knight eyed her curiously before exiting the room. 

“We should go, should we not?” Elia said, turning to Brandon with a pleasant smile. And then a thought struck her before he could respond. “Would you prefer to greet your brother alone?” she asked him quietly. “You could meet here if you like as it is not far from...the other room.” 

Brandon stared at her for a moment before he spoke “If that were possible, I would be much obliged,” he confirmed. “Once again, I suppose,” he added at the end. The air had shifted between them somehow, their eyes staying on the other for a moment.

“Right. I shall leave you here, then,” she told him as she regained her composure. But as she moved to leave, Brandon grabbed her hand suddenly, and Elia let out a slight gasp as her eyes flew down to his hand over hers.

“I never - “ he stopped himself, pausing before he continued. “I never said thank you.” 

“It was just wine,” Elia breathed, trying - and failing - to ignore the feel of his hand holding hers. She had kept her eyes fixed on their joined hands before letting them rise to meet his grey orbs. And then she felt her breath hitch slightly as she took in the raw intensity of his gaze. 

“I never said thank you for saving me.” 

When she walked out of the room, Elia felt like the fruit had begun to fall from her hands. 

* * *

Elia arrived at the chambers just as Rhaella did. They did not even exchange words but only a knowing glance and a nod before they entered together. 

Inside the chambers were Jon Arryn and Robert Baratheon, the first seated and the second pacing - stomping, really - impatiently. As soon as they entered, Lord Arryn rose, bowing to both of them. 

“My Queen - Queens,” he amended awkwardly. Robert Baratheon stopped his pacing, fixing both women with a furious gaze. He did not even bother to bow at first and then Lord Arryn coughed. That led to a brusque false bow. 

Elia looked to Rhaella, and so her good-mother spoke first. “My lords, it is warming to see you both in good health.” 

“Good health??” Baratheon yelled. “Where is my betrothed? Where has your son taken her??” His eyes fixed on Elia then. “Where is your husband, woman?” 

“Robert!” Lord Arryn chastised though to no discernible impact. 

Elia suppressed a groan. Would today only be filled with tall, dark-haired men trying to jostle her emotions, though each with opposite effect? 

Before either she or Rhaella could answer, there was a knock on the door, and Elia exhaled slowly, already glad for the interruption. 

Ser Jonothor entered, bowing to Rhaella and Elia. “Your…” his eyes dashed to Lord Baratheon before going back to the two women. “Your visitor is here, my Queen.” 

Elia watched as Rhaella’s shoulders eased, and a confident smile played upon her lips. “Ah, what good tidings finally. Please show her in, Ser Jonothor.” 

“We’re not finished here! Who have you invited here? We have not even begun to discuss the mess your silver-fucked son created!” Robert roared to Rhaella before turning to pace once more. 

Footsteps padded upon the floor along with the click of a cane, and a disapproving sigh was heard at the door. The guest. 

“Silver is not always so bad, Robert,” the new arrival said coldly. 

Robert whipped around at the voice, and Elia watched with fascination as his fury vanished, only to be replaced by shock and...fear? 

“Grandmother?” he stuttered. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meant to update a while back but real life went crazy for a few weeks. Also, I suppose beginning with the last chapter, I'm giving the solo POV a try. I'm not sure how I like it - as I said before, I like to bounce between people's thoughts. But I wanted to give this a try for a bit. Let me know what you think of that - in addition to the content of the chapter 


	6. The Longest Day, Part 2 - Rhaella

When she was a child, Rhaella Targaryen had been told she was named in honor of her parents’ sister. 

_“Rhaelle - so resilient,” her father Jaehaerys, then a prince not yet a King, had recounted when he first told her of her aunt. “She has done much for the family.” Rhaella would never forget the intense look in her father’s eyes when he spoke his next words. “But what we did - it was all necessary, of course. Remember that, sweetling.”_

When each of her siblings broke betrothals left and right, Rhaelle did the opposite. Prince Duncan broke his betrothal for a girl with flowers in her hair, there was a brief rebellion, and there came Rhaelle to wed the son of a Laughing Storm. With precedent set, the other siblings followed suit - Rhaella’s parents Jaehaerys and Shaera wedded and bedded each other before they could be stopped, breaking two betrothals at once. And Daeron... _well_. That was likely for the best - Olenna Tyrell would have eaten him alive. 

All in all, they all followed the whims of their hearts, not duty - though duty was the price of nobility, was it not? 

And so it was that Rhaella was told that her naming was meant to acknowledge what her aunt had done to compensate for all of this, such sacrifice. 

Even as a child, all Rhaella had thought when she was told that was - _why had there been any need for sacrifice in the first place?_

_Also could my name not have been just a bit more creative than a one-letter difference?_

“Aunt,” Rhaella moved quickly to welcome their new guest. 

“Niece,” the older woman greeted her regally as she began walking to her as well, her gown of violet and black swaying with her steps. “It is wonderful to see you. You look much better since the last time we were together. And for that, I am quite glad.” The two exchanged a warm embrace as the others looked on. 

When it was assured that Robert Baratheon would be coming to King’s Landing with Eddard Stark and Jon Arryn, Rhaella had written to her aunt to let her know of his journey to the capital. The letter had also been to apologize for what Rhaegar had done and to assure her aunt that she’d had no knowledge of what her son planned - or if indeed any of it had been planned at all. 

What Rhaella had not anticipated was that her aunt would write back saying she might fancy a trip back to King’s Landing to greet Robert herself. 

A part of the Queen Dowager wondered if she might be in for some kind of chastisement from her aunt due to Rhaegar’s actions. _But on the other hand, perhaps a little family reunion couldn’t hurt._

_Could it?_

As Rhaella and her aunt withdrew from their embrace, Robert made his presence known once more. “What are you doing here?” he asked incredulously, his blue eyes wide and shocked. 

His grandmother looked at him with a raised and questioning eyebrow. “Are you disappointed, my dear grandson?” 

“No, but - but - there was no need for you to come, grandmother,” he replied, more strained than he probably cared to admit. 

“Can I not visit family when I want, Robert?” the older Targaryen, now Baratheon, dared imperiously. “I shall endeavor to not be hurt by your clear lack of desire for my presence.” 

He let out a weary groan before walking over to her and bending over so that he might embrace the woman who was much shorter than him - though all women were shorter than him, in truth. Despite his initial surprise and tension, it was clear from the young lord’s expression as he embraced his grandmother that he was, indeed, glad to see her. 

Or at least - _somewhat_ glad. 

“That’s better,” Rhaelle replied, giving Robert a pat on the back as their embrace concluded. When he pulled back, she looked at him fondly, placing a hand on his cheek. And then her hand slipped down to Robert’s chin, gripping it so she could turn his face a few times. She inspected him with a slight groan. “Oh Robert, when did you last shave?” she lamented, peering at the shadow of a dark beard that threatened to grow without care.

He stepped back from her with an exasperated huff. “I’ve had a few things on my mind, grandmother,” he replied tightly. It was clear that he was trying to restrain himself - something he did not seem very accustomed to. 

She gave him a knowing look as she walked around him then with a careful ease before approaching Elia with a kind expression.

“My Queen,” Lady Baratheon said with an elegant curtsy. 

Elia was quick to stop her, gently clasping her at her shoulders. “Please, that’s not necessary,” she told her in a rush. It was odd - if that was even the right word - for Rhaella to watch these two women interact in this setting; these two women whom she loved, that held such seemingly different roles in her life. And yet - _and yet_ \- it had started to feel as though there was an odd link, an odd familiarity of what these two women meant to her and to her family. 

“I think I can manage for you, my dear,” Rhaelle said to Elia with a voice softer than Rhaella had heard in some time. “I’m so sorry you have been put through this.” 

And then their oh-so-brief happy peace was interrupted. 

“Why are you apologizing??” Robert yelled in absolute indignation. “You’ve done nothing wrong! It’s her husband that has wronged our house!!” Then he turned to Rhaella. “Her son!” 

Even if his manner of expression was not proper whatsoever, Rhaella could not but concede that the stormlord was completely correct. House Targaryen had wronged House Baratheon - _yet again_. 

“I heard your opinion on this already, Robert. To be blunt, I could hear you from down the hall. And I cannot say I cared for your tone,” his grandmother warned. 

It seemed the young lord had the good sense in that moment to look a bit ashamed - though not much. But her words seemed to at least have the effect of finally making him take a seat. 

“These women are family, Robert. Or did you forget?” the former Targaryen princess asked, her eyes shifting to Lord Arryn for a moment before moving back to her tall grandson. “The Queen Dowager was your father’s cousin. And Queen Elia’s great-grandmother was a Targaryen just as my great-grandmother was a Martell. We are _blood_ , Robert. Act like it,” she commanded firmly. “Or have you somehow forgotten the worth of family?” 

In the back of Rhaella’s mind, a voice prodded at her, wondering if her aunt would have similar words for Rhaegar on the value of ‘family.’ 

The Queen Dowager watched then as her aunt’s eyes tracked like a hawk to the Vale lord again. "Tell me, Lord Arryn. What precisely have you been teaching my grandson? Because he still seems quite like the impetuous and impatient youth that was sent to you years ago.” 

Robert rose from his chair quickly. “How can you say that?” he yelled in his own defense. 

Rhaelle looked from Lord Arryn then to her grandson, before looking back to the Vale lord with a knowing glance. It was clear she had won that tilt. 

Lord Arryn cleared his throat. “Your grandson has learned a great deal while fostering with me, my lady. It’s just a...trying time, as you can see.” 

“Yes. How fortunate for him that he does not have to bear any heavier burden right now or more responsibility,” she said darkly. 

It was then that Robert took his grandmother’s hand in his own. “Lord Arryn has been good to me, grandmother. I have learned much, I swear to you.” It was odd to see this large beast of a man become nearly tender in the presence of his grandmother. Rhaella also did not think the young man had truly learned much during his fostership, but she was quite sure he believed he had all the same. 

His grandmother turned to look up at him, her violet eyes looking over his face and a hint of sadness notable in her gaze. It occurred to Rhaella then how much Robert looked like his father, Steffon. “Yes, well perhaps you have,” his grandmother said, her voice just a bit softer now. “But lowering your voice every now and then would not be unwelcome, my dear.” 

A sneaking grin played at his lips then. “Speaking quietly is not our way, grandmother.” The remark seemed to crack the serious expression upon Rhaelle Baratheon’s face, and a full smile spread across Robert’s face. “And I know you’ve missed my voice!” he remarked with a booming laugh before bending down to plant a kiss on her cheek that she falsely protested with a warm huff.

With the mood lightened a bit - miraculously - Rhaella took that moment to gain a reprieve. “You all must be tired from your respective journeys. Perhaps we could take a small break for lunch? Elia and I must see to the children first, but then we could meet once more in the afternoon.” 

Elia looked to Jon Arryn. “And we will have a guard escort you to your nephew, Lord Arryn. I am sure you must be anxious to see him.” 

Before he could even respond, Rhaelle turned to Robert. “Excellent. Now you and I can catch up, my dear,” she informed him, tenderly smoothing some of his black hair. And then she turned to Lord Arryn. “And later, perhaps we can discuss my grandson’s more permanent return to Storm’s End, my lord?” Though it was phrased as a question, it was clear - the Lady was not asking. 

  
  


* * *

“I forgot how much I like her.”

Elia was looking at Rhaenys and Viserys when she spoke as the two young ones ate their lunch together (Viserys more so than Rhaenys who was more concerned with smashing her vegetables). They were eating their meal in the gardens, trying to give the children some fresh air. Aegon cooed in Elia’s arms as though he were agreeing with her words, gazing at his mother with sparkling purple eyes. 

“Aunt Rhaelle? Yes, she is…” Rhaella thought on it for a moment. “She is one to be admired.” Her eyes moved to where Elia’s had been, watching Viserys sit with Rhaenys and eventually trying to help his niece eat her food. 

Then her thoughts drifted to her aunt’s words, then to Aerys and finally...to Rhaegar. _Could I have done more for him? How could I have a son who acts like this?_

“Good-mother?” Elia called softly, placing a gentle hand on her arm. “Is all well?” 

Rhaella looked to her, a small but hesitant smile trying to appear though not fully succeeding. She looked down at Elia’s hand on her arm and placed her other hand on top. “I was thinking of Aunt Rhaelle’s admonishment to Robert earlier, about valuing family. And I...I find myself wondering if I could have done more as a mother, _should_ have done more to make Rhaegar better.” 

A sad but compassionate expression crossed Elia’s face. “You cannot think like that, it is not your fault.” 

“Isn’t it though? Of course, princes grow up with the utmost privilege. But is it not my duty to make him realize the responsibility of that? Is it not my duty to make him humble in the face of such privilege?” Rhaella watched as Elia’s eyes went to Aegon who was slowly swaying back to sleep in her arms. “Have I not done him a disservice - and the realm too - by letting him live without challenge, that he can do as he wants without consequence?” 

And even while she questioned her own role in Rhaegar's actions, she could not help the small bitterness that crept into her mind. _He risked the wrath of two houses and Aerys for some girl - but he could not be bothered to fight for his own mother._

Perhaps it wasn't a fair feeling - but it was one she felt nonetheless. 

“It is not your fault that you were limited in how much you could be around him, Rhaella,” Elia told her firmly. “Please, I beg you - do not place blame on your shoulders.” 

Rhaella lips tightened and she looked to Viserys then, her eyes determined. “I vow he will not be like his brother or father. As long as I draw breath, I will make sure he is better than them.” 

Elia followed her gaze to the children, her eyes focusing on the young silver-blonde-haired child as well. “He is good, Rhaella. And you must know that he thinks the world of you.” 

She looked to her good-daughter then, thinking of the slightly tumultuous journey they found themselves on. Rhaella was glad that, at the very least, they were together on this path. 

“How was your meeting with Brandon Stark?” she asked Elia, hoping to move away from the melancholy that even talking about Rhaegar seemed to summon

“It was …. “ Elia’s gaze was faraway then, though her hand continued to stroke Aegon’s soft hair. 

“Elia?” Rhaella prodded gently. It was now her turn to summon the other from the depths of their thoughts. 

Her good-daughter shook her head as though waking herself. “It was fine. He...he is very kind, though a bit brash of course. But he was kind,” she concluded quietly. 

“Poor thing,” Rhaella lamented. “I cannot imagine what it was like for him to witness his father’s death.” 

“He is recovering the best he can,” Elia confirmed. “But he will want recompense from Rhaegar, that I know,” she told Rhaella quietly. “Aerys’s death will not be enough, I do not think.”

Rhaella let out a weary sigh. “No, I’m sure it will not. But what was he thinking coming here in such a state,” she asked, shaking her head at the northerner’s folly. 

“He was thinking of his sister,” Elia stated resolutely, and there was an emotion behind her words Rhaella could not quite place. “There are worse crimes than caring about one’s family,” Elia continued, her voice now both distant and warm at the same time. “Far worse.” 

That was something they both knew all too well. 

The two women settled into a brief moment of comfortable silence, watching as Viserys joined Rhaenys in trying to mash their vegetables and draw animals with the resulting mush. Their content bubble was only broken by the sound of a clink of armor and a second later, a voice. 

“Your eldest son has returned.” 

Rhaella and Elia both gasped sharply as they turned quickly to see Rhaelle Baratheon and Ser Gerold. 

“I heard the maids tittering about it after I left Robert,” she said with a wry smile. “And I thought perhaps I might accompany you when you welcome him home from his...time away.” The last words came out in a slightly darker tone. 

_Gods be good. This will not go well,_ Rhaella thought to herself as she rose alongside Elia. “Of course, Aunt. Unless you might prefer to rest some before you see him?” she asked with a tentative smile and a hint of a plea. 

“I am not tired, niece,” the older woman replied. “On the contrary, I find that I have both energy - and questions for our new King.” 

* * *

“Mother, Elia,” Rhaegar greeted them as soon as they entered the room. Rhaella looked her firstborn over, noticing that he looked no worse for the wear from wherever he had gone and returned from. _Where has he been?_ He came to her first, embracing her tightly as Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell looked on behind him. 

"It is for the best, mother,” he whispered into her ear, and she knew he was speaking of Aerys’s passing. “But I hope you have begun to find some peace now." 

Rhaella could scarcely believe her ears. She pulled back from their embrace quickly and looked at him with indignation. "No, it has not yet been peaceful, my son. Far off, in fact."

She could see his jaw tighten and uncertainty enter his eyes at her words and tone. He moved to his wife next. 

Rhaegar embraced Elia, bending his head to place a kiss on her cheek. “Elia, I’ve missed you,” he breathed with a smile. Rhaella was not blind and immediately noticed how tense Elia’s body was - as though she were fighting the urge to slap her husband. 

And she could not fault her for that.

"Rhaegar," Elia said quietly but strained. The uncertainty deepened in his eyes. 

_I truly have raised a fool,_ Rhaella thought to herself. _Did he think we would welcome him with open arms?_

Rhaegar’s eyes then shifted to Rhaelle Baratheon, and it was clear that it took him a few moments to register who she was. It was also clear the exact moment he realized her identity by the slight widening of his eyes. 

"Aunt," he greeted, audibly gulping. "It has been too long. I have not seen you since Elia and I were wed."

She peered at him with a raised eyebrow. 

“Are you sure?” she asked, drawing out the last word like an ominous tune.

“I -” He gaped at her and then sunk into quick thought before replying. “Why, yes, I do not believe we have seen you since the wedding.” 

She let out an easy laugh then."Well, how charming you remember. And here I thought you had forgotten that particular event - or that you took vows at all," she remarked dryly. 

The room went silent, though Rhaella could have sworn she heard Elia stifle a cough. 

"I know you must think I have erred in my ways -” Rhaegar began before his words were cut.

"Do I now?” Lady Baratheon asked, both eyebrows raised at him. “That's what I ‘ _must’_ think? That you have simply…’erred,’ you say?" 

Rhaegar visibly sputtered. "I merely want to apologize for any offense or slight taken. But I assure you my actions were done with noble intentions."

The older woman then slowly turned to Rhaella with an incredulous gaze, her eyes asking what in the seven hells he was trying to say. Then she turned back to look at Rhaegar letting out a deep breath that vaguely sounded like a low growl. 

She entered into a calm pace in front of Rhaegar then, her cane tapping a slow, syncopated rhythm. “It’s odd. Naught but two hours ago I was in this room reminding my grandson - “ Rhaelle paused for a moment. “You do know him, my grandson - your cousin?” she asked innocently. 

“Indeed, I am of course familiar with cousin Robert, I - ” 

Rhaelle held up a hand. “Good,” she said with a tight smile. “I shall continue then. I was simply not sure what you choose to remember or when. In this very room, I reminded Robert that he must remember the value of family. I wonder if you need such a reminder, as well. Certainly you remember that mine own son traveled across the seas and back in search of a bride for you?” 

Rhaegar let out a slow breath, closing his eyes. “I would never forget that, it was horri-” 

“And then only to meet his death on that fool’s errand when there was already a perfectly wonderful and suitable bride here, right here in Westeros!” Rhaelle continued with a flourish, her hand sweeping over to gesture to Elia. “And yet you seem to have forgotten her - _and your two children_ \- just as you forgot your bond of family to House Baratheon when you absconded with Robert's betrothed like a thief in the night!” 

It seemed Rhaelle was not always opposed to raising one's voice - and that Robert’s penchant for loud expressions was not from his Baratheon side alone. 

“Aunt, please,” Rhaegar said, his voice strained. He raised his hands up in feigned surrender. “It is not as it seems. I do not wish to offend, but you are wrong.” 

“I think not,” Rhaelle replied, brusque and sharp. “Though I suppose I would not know,” she conceded. “I confess I am simply not familiar with the sensation of being wrong. Though surely you must be?” 

_Well, almost conceded._

Then she took a few steps towards him, turning her head to the side as though she were solving a puzzle. Rhaegar leaned back slightly from his waist, his chin dipping into his chest. He watched her with a wary eye, clearly unnerved by her study of him. 

"Do you know,” Rhaelle said slowly, tilting her head up, “You quite remind me of my brother - your grandfather," she pondered. 

"Oh," Rhaegar perked up, clearly eager for what seemed like a more positive shift in their interaction. Then his expression turned puzzled. "I was always under the impression you did not have the most favorable impression of him."

Her own expression did not change. "Exactly," she drawled.

It was then that they heard some kind of scuffle outside and raised voices. And one voice was louder than the rest.

_Robert._

The two Kingsguard moved hesitantly towards Rhaegar and then in a flash, the doors burst open and Robert Baratheon stood before them. His eyes - wild and furious - went all over the room until they quickly arrived on Rhaegar. 

After everything she had seen in her life, Rhaella now wondered if she had ever seen so much fury in one man’s eyes. 

“WHERE IS SHE??” Robert bellowed, breathing hard, more beast than stag. As he made a quick move towards his target, Elia and Rhaella both let out sounds of alarm. Rhaegar’s eyes went wide as he scrambled backwards and behind the table, and Arthur and Oswell moved in front of him quickly. 

Ser Jaime and Ser Gerold moved to restrain Robert, and when it was clear they were still struggling as two against one, Ser Oswell moved to push the stormlord back as well. Jon Arryn was vaguely behind Robert, pulling on his shoulder and telling him to calm down.

“If you laid one hand on her, you filthy dragon cunt, we will meet on the battlefield!!” Robert roared, his face red and wild. “Can’t even fight me like a man, protected by your knights like a little girl!!” 

Rhaella knew her aunt would surely call for Robert to stop and behave himself. Except that when she looked at the silver-and-grey haired woman, she found that she was watching Rhaegar with an amused and placid expression. 

"Aunt!" she whispered urgently. Rhaelle looked to her and acknowledged her plea with a mild eye roll and exasperated sigh.

"Robert,” his grandmother called blandly. “Please comport yourself.” Her words came out with all the emotion of asking for a slice of bread - or perhaps less. _No, certainly less._

Rhaegar, Jon Arryn, Elia and even Ser Arthur’s heads all whipped to the old woman with disbelieving eyes, and she seemed to give in then with a small huff. "Robert!" Rhaelle finally yelled with one jab of her cane to the floor. "I do not wish to see these knights toss you into the black cells or worse!" That command came out with force and even a hint of grandmotherly emotion. 

That broke through to him finally and he began to slacken his resistance then, catching his breath from the strain of fighting against the hold of the other men. 

Rhaegar cleared his throat as he walked forward then, smoothing his silver hair and pulling down on his black doublet to straighten it. "Cousin Rob-"

"Do not dare to call me cousin!!” Robert hissed and the Kingsguard pushed him back once more. “You are no family of mine!!" His eyes went to his grandmother then, holding her gaze with a wild finality. And it was clear she had no objection to that statement. 

Rhaegar let out a slow breath. "As you wish. _Lord Baratheon_...I know you seek answers. I would like to assure you that Lady Lyanna is perfectly well and safe, here in the Keep."

"Lyanna?? She’s here?" Robert asked desperately, almost as though a daze had come over him. As quick as it came, it vanished and his expression turned fearsome. 

"Take me to her. NOW." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Serious question - is Rhaelle still technically a princess? Or is a solely a Lady now? Also...it's confusing writing 'Rhaella' and 'Rhaelle.' 
> 
> In any case, hope you liked the chapter - and if you did, drop a kudos for Lady Baratheon


	7. The Longest Day, Part 3 - Brandon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place right after Brandon and Elia parted ways in chapter 5

Brandon paced like a caged wolf as he waited for Ned to arrive. 

He realized they had not seen each other since they parted ways after that blasted tourney. 

_Harrenhal_. 

He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the darkness. Though it remained, taking his thoughts to his sister. They spiraled further and he tried to think of home in comfort, but that led him to think of Benjen. _Young, sweet Ben_. Alone as the Stark in Winterfell. 

_We’re orphans now, pup,_ he thought to himself. 

_I’m so sorry._

Now he thought back to the brother he would see soon and wished he could just go to Ned directly instead of waiting like this. But Elia had been right when she suggested that they have some privacy. 

He stopped pacing for a moment, closing his eyes as he remembered his lapse, though small, in judgment with the Queen. He cursed himself for grabbing her hand like that. But something came over him in the moment, and it happened before he thought about what he was doing. 

_Typical_.

Somehow since that day when he woke to her tending his neck - since he found out how she stood up for him in front of the Mad King no less, a respect for her had lodged itself in him, as deep as the roots of a weirwood. And in their conversations since and the time they’d spent together during these past few weeks in the capital, he found himself at ease when he was with her. 

That’s what he felt when they began a bit of a banter earlier as they sipped their wine. And then she had closed her eyes as the sun washed over her, and Brandon felt himself staring at the beautiful calm that took over her face then, his eyes drifting to her lips as she seemed to try and regain her composure. _From the wine or our conversation?_ he had wondered at the time. 

That was what had prompted him to bring up her dark gown - he was trying to rouse himself from thoughts like that, in addition to avoiding the grief and rage that seemed to lie in wait for him more and more these days. 

“Get a hold of yourself,” he muttered to himself, resuming his pacing.

Finally a few moments later, there was a knock on the door and he found himself without breath as he waited for it to open. And when it finally did, any breath in him left him in a rush. 

“Ned.” Brandon’s voice was broken, shards of an icicle on the ground.

His own name barely left Ned’s mouth before their arms were around each other in a strong embrace. Brandon closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. To see his brother was overwhelming in equal parts good and painful. 

He pulled back to look him over. “You didn’t need to come here, Ned,” he told him gruffly but with a small smile. 

Not surprisingly, Ned looked back at him with an intensely somber gaze. “I needed to know you were _alive_ , Brandon, that you were safe!” he replied, the tone of his voice betraying his attempt to steady his emotions. “When I got the first raven, about father - “ His voice wavered slightly as he paused. 

“Ned. It’s my fault -”

“You did what you thought was right. It’s not your fault there was a monster on the throne,” Ned began, closing his eyes before opening them a few moments later to look at his older brother. “There...there were no good choices. You’re alive though, and for that, I give thanks.” 

Brandon wondered if he truly meant it - or if he was just relieved he wasn’t dead too. Ned looked at his neck uneasily, wincing as he took in the remaining marks of the device that nearly took his life. “How did you survive? Why did he not kill you?” 

Brandon’s hand ghosted along his neck. “It is a long story.” It wasn’t, truly. It was quite short. But it could wait for another time, he reasoned. “But...I am lucky to be alive.” 

There was an awkward silence before Ned spoke again. “You said you knew of Lyanna, that she’s safe?” Ned asked hopefully. 

The reality was Brandon did not even have all the facts. But the letter Elia had shown him made clear she was not kidnapped. After that, the truth was - well, he did not know. He could only pray it was as he wanted it to be. _That would be the best truth._

“Ned,” he sighed. “It’s not what I thought, what anyone thought.”

“What do you mean?” 

“The prince - the K- ,” Brandon gritted out. “Rhaegar did not take her. She went with him. It seems...they arranged it all.” 

His brother - his kind, quiet brother - took a few steps back from him as his face collapsed into disbelief. “That’s an awful jape, Brandon.”  
  
“It’s no jape.” 

“There was a letter, Ned,” he said tiredly. “But we won’t know everything until she is back with us. The Queen says they have tried to get word to her and….Rhaegar.” The name came out in a growl. 

Ned ran one hand over his face, weary and confused. “I feel like we’re in some kind of farce, Brandon - and a bad one. How did we end up in the south, in the capital - father dead and Lya missing?” 

What was there to say? Every morning when he had awoken the past few weeks in the capital, at first Brandon thought he was in Winterfell - every morning. It always took a few moments before he realized where he was; in what world he now existed. 

The only thing he could think to say was the truest emotion in him. “We should never have left Winterfell. We’re not meant for the south.” His voice shook with a seething frustration. 

"Brandon," Ned began quietly. "Did father talk to you of his...his plans with Jon and Lord Tully?" 

He looked at his brother cautiously. "A bit. It was...it was to have an alliance to bring some control against Aerys..." His brother looked at him nervously but did not reply. "Ned?"

But before he could answer, the door swung open. 

And in the doorway was their little sister.

Lyanna looked wilder than normal, her hair styled in a messy braid. And she wore breeches and a tunic. There was a bit of dirt on her face, and her cheeks looked like they had been slightly burned by the sun, he noted. Her eyes went wide as she looked between the two of them and then suddenly Ned had closed the distance between them. 

“Lyanna,” Ned whispered into her hair, enveloping her into his arms. “You’re safe.”

“Ned,” she cried, her arms tight around him. “I did not know you would be here, but I am glad for it, brother.” After a few moments, they pulled back to look at each other, both with slightly watery smiles. Then she turned to Brandon, moving towards him quickly, still smiling. 

Her path was halted when he took two steps back and looked away from her as he shut his eyes tightly. 

“First,” he said tightly as he opened his eyes to look upon her. “Tell me that you that you are well and you have not been hurt.” 

He could see the uncertainty brewing in her eyes as she tried to understand his wariness. “I have not been hurt,” she stated quietly. 

Brandon gave a single nod before he spoke once more. “Is it true, then.” It was a question but it was stated as fact once the words left his lips. 

The only sound, the only response, one that filled the silent and tense room, was a short gasp from Lyanna. 

“How did you know?” she finally asked after some moments. 

“Is..it...true,” Brandon asked once more. Without even looking at his brother, he knew that Ned was watching the two of them with trepidation. 

She did not reply with words, but when he looked at her, he saw the answer in the wild but frantic defiance apparent in her eyes. 

“It does not matter how I know,” he began, trying to remain calm, though he knew he would not succeed. “What matters is that I do, Lya! But tell me there is something I don’t know, some piece that will help me understand why you did this!” Brandon yelled. 

"I didn't think any of this would happen!" she shouted, her voice breaking. 

“What did you think would happen? Hmm? Tell me, were you just going to hide away the rest of your life?” 

"Well I didn't think you'd come barging into the red keep, Brandon!!"

“Lya,” Ned whispered, breaking the tension between his siblings. “You went with him? Truly? He did not kidnap you?” 

“Brother…” she uttered. She could never get mad at Ned. Brandon, always. Benjen - a bit. But Ned - never. The sparseness of her words made her answer clear enough. “I did not want to marry Robert, I told you what he was like. And Rhaegar…we wrote to each other after Harrenhal.”

Ned looked at her and the shock was all too clear but more than that, it was the look of betrayal that defined his reaction. Cold and pure. 

It was clear Lyanna was struggling to find the words. And then it seemed like something clicked and she turned her attentions back on her eldest brother. “Why did you come here like that, Brandon??” she asked desperately. 

He gazed at their little sister, his grey eyes piercing her with anger and hurt in equal parts. "Do you think so _little_ of us that we would not look for you? Of me??” he asked with a bite. “That I wouldn’t do everything to make sure you were safe??”

"But I was safe!"

Then he laughed, harsh and bitter. "Mayhaps if you'd bothered to tell us, we'd have known that, wouldn't we? But you did it all in secret." 

She flinched and Brandon knew then that _she_ knew he was right. "You would have stopped me, father would have," she whispered roughly. 

"Aye, so we would have. But you didn't tell us and now look where we find ourselves!!"

"It's not my fault!!!" she shouted indignantly. 

"ENOUGH!" 

Brandon and Lyanna's heads both snapped towards their normally quiet brother, who had remained silent most of the conversation until now. 

Ned looked at them both, rage and a crushing pain taking over his eyes. Then he sat in a chair wearily, resting his head in one hand. 

"You fighting with each other won't bring father back.” His eyes remained closed as he rubbed his forehead, as though the motion would erase the events that brought them to this moment. 

"It won't," Brandon agreed. "But she needs to know, Ned. Father always let her do as she pleased -"

"He didn't!!” Lyanna shouted in defense. “He wouldn't even let me learn how to wield a sword, let alone have a say in my life! And I'm right here, don't talk about me like I'm not here!"

"Brandon, Lya, please -" Ned interjected but to no avail. 

"You're here now, Lyanna," Brandon said, his tone low and warning. "But where were you when father burned in the throne room?"

Her eyes went wide as silence engulfed the room before Brandon spoke again.

"Where were you when I nearly strangled myself to death, trying to reach for a sword, reach father, wondering how I would get to you, where you were!"

"I didn't know...I didn't know you were hurt as well."

Brandon laughed at that. "You didn't know? Didn’t your silver prince tell you?" She made no reply which was answer enough. Silence was always more revealing than words, of course. "No? He hid the truth, did he? I suppose he’s used to the smell of burning flesh. I confess, that was new for me."

The tears began to fall from her eyes then and he wondered if he had been too harsh. But she was not the one who would live with the image of their father dying for the rest of their days. 

Perhaps by luck for all of them, their argument was broken by a knock at the door. 

_Was the capital one meeting after another that was interrupted?_ Brandon wondered, grateful and annoyed all at once. A guard entered without waiting for permission. _And why should they? I am, for all intents, a prisoner, if a well treated one._

The young man cleared his throat. "Pardon, m’lords. Your presence is requested by King Rhaegar."

He hated hearing that title. So much. 

"Whose presence?”

The young lad blanched. "A - all of you. Including the lady."

“Don’t suppose we can say no,” Brandon stated darkly and the poor guard opened his mouth to reply though nothing came out. He let out a weary sigh before nodding. “Fine, show us where.”

* * *

When they entered the room, he had only been expecting the silver fuck. 

Instead they were met by a large group, and it felt like the tensions slapped him right in the face the moment they entered. 

He saw Rhaegar on one side of the room and next to him was a woman he believed to be his mother, the now Queen Dowager. And then next to her was Elia. They exchanged a nervous glance as she gave him the barest hint of a smile - though he could see the worry in her eyes. He wanted to go back to the morning, to talking and drinking wine together. _What_ _a balm that would be right now._

But no, they were now in the middle of what could only be described as an unstable brew of conflicting emotions, goals and desires. 

He wondered if this was what made wildfire.

On the other side of the room was Jon Arryn and Robert who sported a look of utter relief when they walked in, his blue eyes landing on Lyanna with a wide smile. And there was someone else with Robert, a woman, Brandon realized, though who - he knew not. But the calm and controlled look on her face instinctively made him wary.

It felt like everyone’s eyes were flying around to the various parties, waiting for someone to speak first. He noticed his sister did not make eye contact with either woman who sported the title of Queen.

Of course, it was Robert who broke the tension, moving to the Stark party quickly and straight for Lyanna. Brandon wondered what reception he was expecting. The two barely knew each other. _And he certainly does not know the cold truth._

“Lyanna,” Robert said, his voice warm and full of emotion. He moved to take her hands in his and her face and body tightened immediately. She looked like she wanted to speak but no words came out. 

"As you can see," Rhaegar finally spoke with an even tone, though he seemed displeased by Robert being so close to her. "Lyanna is well, Rob - Lord Baratheon. You can be at ease now."

Robert dropped her hands and he turned in a fury to look at Rhaegar. “Don't try to clean your sins, dragon devil!” he yelled. “Whatever you did will be repaid in kind a hundred times over and - “ 

“I WANTED TO GO WITH HIM!” 

Lyanna’s voice was desperate when she shouted for all to hear. And the room went silent. 

“He did not kidnap me, Robert,” Lyanna reiterated, tired though resolute. “I went with him - by my own will.” 

Robert turned to look at his former betrothed and the horror coupled with utter disbelief was plain as day. “You’re lying. Y-you can’t possibly mean that. Why would you say that, Lyanna??” 

She let out a breath of exasperation. “It is the truth!” 

The storm lord’s eyes shifted quickly back to Rhaegar. “What did you do to her?” he asked, somewhere between a roar and a hiss. “Is this some sorcery? Hmm? Did you poison her??” 

“There was no trickery, Robert!” Lyanna yelled, interjecting before Rhaegar could even speak. “It was my choice,” she finished defiantly. 

Brandon exhaled a weary groan, closing his eyes for a moment and wishing he had not let her come - though they had not really been given much of a choice. 

“So,” the older woman who had been by Robert spoke, cutting the thick, tense silence with her sharp tongue. “This is how House Stark treats it’s word, it’s honor.” 

Lyanna turned quickly to the lady, her eyes like a scared but vicious wolf. “Who are you to judge us?” 

The look that silver and grey lady gave Lyanna in that moment would have made Tywin Lannister wither. Then she smiled and it sent shivers down Brandon’s spine. 

“I am Lady Rhaelle Baratheon - some still know me as _Princess_ Rhaelle _Targaryen_. Robert’s grandmother.” 

“My lady,” Lyanna gritted out slowly. “House Stark _is_ honorable.” 

“Really?” Lady Baratheon drawled. “How odd, I was always under the impression that it was not honorable to break a betrothal. But do tell me more about your honor, Lady Lyanna.” 

“That’s not - I didn’t - “ 

“Are you a Hightower, a Bracken or a Stark?” she pondered falsely as the names rolled over her tongue like heads on the executioner's block. 

“You have no right! I -” Before Lyanna could speak further, Brandon grabbed her hand and with every ounce of emotion in his body, he used his gaze to silence her. He hoped for once she would listen. 

“Apologies, my lady. My sister did not mean to speak out of turn,” he answered, not able to hide his strained tone. 

“Is that so?” Rhaelle Baratheon asked darkly. “I suspect she does not care if she speaks out of turn.” 

Before Lyanna could object again, Rhaella raised a hand to quiet her. “Enough, girl,” the older woman said, nearly bored. “If you think you’re the one in control here, you’re even dimmer than I thought. The rest of my words will be saved for my nephew,” the silver-haired woman said as her eyes trailed to Rhaegar. 

“Aunt,” the King began and Brandon realized then, with beautiful satisfaction, that he was intimidated by this woman. “I would like to make amends for disrupting the betrothal between Lord Robert and Lady Lyanna.”

“Disrupting? You’ve broken it, dear nephew,” she said sweetly. “I wonder...you said what you did was done with the noblest of intentions, nephew. If it is all so noble, I wonder then why you did it all so secretly?” Rhaegar gave her no verbal answer, instead only responding with a tight and angry gaze. “Are you such a fool?” 

And yet another quiet fell upon the room as she chastened the man that was to be their King. “I hesitate to remind you -” Rhaegar began with an icy tone. 

“Oh, do not hesitate!” Rhaelle tittered. “Remind away...nephew.” 

“I am your King,” he seethed. 

She looked at him, her chin tilted up. “Say it a few more times and perhaps it shall make you worthy.” Robert snorted a laugh at that, looking upon his grandmother with admiration. “Or will you burn me for my insolence? Are you so much like your father that you shall break bonds with your vassals so easily... _my King_?” His title was said with such a taunt, it would have better had she not said it at all. 

Before the King could reply, the Queen Dowager placed a hand on his arm and gave him a look that Brandon supposed was meant to calm him. “I think it would be best if we reconvened for these discussions - both with House Baratheon and House Stark - with the Small Council.” She looked to her son then, telling him with her eyes to concur. 

Rhaegar cleared his throat before replying. “Yes, that seems like it would be for the best. I would like for you both to be compensated for your...losses.” 

Brandon had been so caught up with the tension unfolding between Robert and Lyanna that it had allowed him to push away the one thing that was driving every part of him since that horrible day a few weeks ago. 

“Losses? _Losses_ ?” he asked incredulously. “You father _burned_ mine alive and that’s what you call simply a loss??” Before the silver-tongued farce of a King could try to sing his way out of this, Brandon stopped him. “Your mother speaks wisely. I’ll not have this talk with just you.” He pointed a finger at him as his eyes pinned him simultaneously. “Bring your little advisors when we meet, let them explain how you will compensate us for your father killing ours,” Brandon growled lowly. “For now, I want to be with my brother and sister as we mourn _our loss_.” He moved to leave, gesturing for Ned and Lyanna to follow him before they were stopped. 

“Wait,” Robert called, his voice pure steel. “Tell me.” 

It was Ned who spoke then. “Robert?” he asked, confused. But his friend’s eyes were on Lyanna. 

“I deserve to know why.” 

She looked at him with something akin to a mix of pity and frustration. “We’re not suited, Robert. You must see that,” she beseeched. 

“I don’t see that!” he yelled, confusion and anger lacing his voice. There was a pause before he spoke once more. “There’s more. I can tell.”

She looked down at the ground when she spoke next. “And you...you would never keep to one bed, I know it.” 

He flinched at the insult - of _her_ truth - before gradually his face reddened in rage. “Is that the tale he told you - or you told yourself before you opened your legs for a married prince?” 

“Robert!!” Ned yelled, angered and horrified all at once. Brandon wondered who else would disappoint his brother today. 

The stormlord blinked at Ned as just the slightest bit of fury seeped away - though only the slightest bit. “Sorry, Ned,” he said low and quiet, though there was still danger in his voice. 

“I’m no whore, Robert!!! We married! I am his wife!” 

And just like that, in one swift stroke, the room - _and perhaps the realm_ \- shifted irrevocably. Brandon looked at Lyanna, his eyes wide in a storm of emotions - anger, shock, shame. He looked to Elia then and saw that the Queen Dowager had clutched one of her hands in her own fiercely. Elia’s eyes found his at the same moment, and an unnamed emotion passed between them. 

His eyes then shifted to the silver fuck who looked completely unfazed now. “It’s really quite simple, you see. She is to be my second wife.” 

Brandon found himself reeling from the shock of the new admission - and thinking that they had been so close to leaving the room before everything fell apart yet again. 

_Maybe if I close my eyes, I will wake up and not be in this fucking hell._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm not super satisfied with this chapter. I found it really hard to write Lyanna and Robert convincingly. I really don't know how a pre-war/rebellion Robert would react to Lyanna telling him she wanted to go with Rhaegar, but I tried to take some inspiration from Ned and Robert's arguments in AGOT - particularly 'defiance was not a dish he tasted often.' Meep. 
> 
> Also just to be clear, I wrote Robert's comment to Lyanna because I think it it's in line with the character GRRM depicts. Doesn't mean I endorse his clear misogyny. 
> 
> In general, the mood when the Stark kids walked into the room - and then at the end - was very much: 


	8. Whispers on wings - Kevan/Areo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief check-in outside the capital

_Casterly Rock_

Kevan watched as his brother read the first message from the capital - wondering, waiting for his reaction. His pale green eyes trailed over the message, though his face gave no reaction to words in front of him. 

After a few moments, Tywin finally glanced up at him. “Where is Gerion?” 

_Does it really matter where our youngest brother is at this very moment? You won’t like the answer, brother._ “He is with Tyrion.” 

His brother continued to stare at him, letting silence fill the room. The rising sun had creeped into the room and made the gold flecks in Tywin’s eyes flash like the spark of steel tested. 

“They’re reading together,” Kevan finally continued - admitted, really. “It’s Gerion’s latest favorites - about the wonders.” He rather enjoyed observing Gery with their nephew, the two were quite happy together. It was the only time he saw any joy in the child, truth be told. 

“Gerion fills his head with nonsense.”

“They’re just books, Tywin - “

“He indulges him,” his brother chastised coldly. 

_He’s the only one who does_ , Kevan thought sadly. After a few moments, he dared to ask what he wanted the moment the raven arrived. “You’ve read the pr- King’s message, I trust?” 

Tywin tossed the parchment onto his desk carelessly as though it were false currency. “Of course. Do you have the other?” he asked. 

Kevan produced the second piece of parchment and handed it over. “A slightly different tale.” 

He watched as Tywin’s eyes went over the words before him, though his face betrayed nothing of what he read. 

“I used to think Rhaegar had promise. If things had gone differently at Duskendale…” he trailed off before resuming his line of thought. “But then Harrenhal, now this. He has squandered it all.” 

“What was he thinking? The Stark girl is nothing extraordinary. Perhaps there is some sort of wild beauty there. But if it were beauty, surely he would have looked west,” Kevan pondered. “Is he simply a love-struck fool? He never seemed one to fall that way.” 

“I learned long ago that more often than not, there is little use in searching for logic in the mind of a Targaryen.” Then he raised the piece of parchment once more, inspecting it as he rolled the dry paper between his fingers. “But for all his follies, I do not believe love could be all there is to this. He cannot be _that_ weak,” Tywin pondered, his eyes narrowing over the sea of scrolls on his desk. 

“The Baratheon boy is furious.” 

“Of course he is,” Tywin agreed. “I would expect no less.” 

“What was Rhaegar reading all those days he spent in the library if not at least some of his family’s own history.” Did the young king not care to remember the Laughing Storm? What concessions will the crown make to the stag this time? Kevan then recalled the rest of the Grand Maester’s whispers. “Pycelle seems to think there is a friendship between the Dornish princess - “

“Queen,” his brother and liege interjected. His voice was short but distant - perhaps even with a hint of dissatisfaction. 

“He seems to think there is perhaps an...alliance of sorts between her and Brandon Stark. She cared for him when he was injured.” 

Tywin gazed at him, his eyes narrowing as he seemed to be in thought. “So he says. That was a daring gamble on her part, saving him like that. It could have easily turned the other way with Aerys.” 

“But now it has yielded its benefits, it would seem,” Kevan observed. Tywin’s mouth quirked with a small cluck as he sunk into thought. 

“They’ll need to make many concessions to the Starks for what Aerys has done - but his death itself is the biggest one they could have given, so in that there is already a start. Still, Rhaegar has shaken it all again with this folly with the Stark girl.” 

“What will you do?” Kevan finally asked. 

The Lord of Casterly Rock looked at him, his eyes glinting and cold. “Find out how weak the ground is, of course.” 

* * *

_Sunspear_

Hotah watched as the maester handed the various parchments to the prince, placing two carefully on top. He knew those must be of importance. 

The prince unfurled the first one and a small smile looked near apparent. “He’s coming back, good.” He read it once more, eyeing it carefully and closing his eyes for a moment, as though he were in prayer. Then he opened his eyes and put quill to parchment. “If we send this now, it should reach him at the next port.” 

Caleotte nodded in agreement and was about to take the finished message from Doran when the door to the solar burst open. 

In tumbled the little princess, tears streaming down her cheeks. Princess Arianne’s speed was slow as she moved with a slight limp, holding the skirt of her lilac dress a bit just past her knee. When she was in front of her father’s desk, she looked up at him with a frown.

“Arianne, what’s wrong?” her father asked steadily. She made the turn around the desk slowly, her feet shuffling and her eyes watery. When she got to him, he placed one hand on her cheek and asked her again with simply a look. 

“It hurts,” she sniffled and pointed at a skinned knee. “Obara and Nym go too fast.” Her cousins were just a bit older, but always faster than the little princess. 

“Let me see,” Doran said softly, examining the reddened patch of skin on her small knee. “I believe you will live, but let us have Maester Caleotte confirm, hmm?” After Caleotte had agreed, hiding his amusement at the false severity of the situation, he left to find a small bandage for the girl. 

“Come now,” the prince said, huffing slightly as he brought his plump daughter onto his lap and kissed her forehead gently. “The pain shall ease, it always does.” 

She nodded solemnly as he wiped away the remnants of her tears. “Mama is with Quentyn.” Then she looked up at him, slightly indignant. “He won’t play with me.” 

“You must give him time to be able to walk first before you involve him in your mischief, Arianne,” he replied with a small laugh.

“But I don’t have a mischief,” she grumbled in confusion before turning to look at the papers on his desk. “What are you doing?” she murmured with a huff of a sigh.

“Working - just as you will when you are older and rule Dorne.” 

That raised her curiosity as her face brightened then. “Will you teach me?” she asked, seemingly having forgotten the source of her earlier troubles. 

“Well, I’ve written to your Uncle Oberyn - 

“I miss Uncle Oby,” she lamented. “Will he come home soon?” 

“Soon.” The prince said no more than that. 

Though he did smile. 

“And now,” Prince Doran continued, “I am reading a letter from my sister Elia. You remember her, do you not?” 

A sharp stress had taken over the prince when he found out that his beloved sister was in the capital by order of the King. But when the news came of the death of Aerys, some relief found its way back to Prince Doran. 

“Yes! I remember Aunt Elia,” Arianne exclaimed excitedly. “She is a princess like me. And she let me hold her baby when we went to the capital. Rhaenys, she was very sweet,” she confirmed with a solid nod. “ _She_ would play with me, I’m sure,” she added in a mumble, more to herself than her father. 

“Perhaps so.” The prince’s eyes read over the message from his sister once more before he was roused from his thoughts by his daughter tugging on the sleeve of his tunic. “Your aunt Elia is now a Queen, my dear.” 

The little princess looked at him with wide eyes. “What does that mean?” 

His eyes moved past his desk to a small table on the other side of the room where a cyvasse board lay. The various pieces were in a bundle on the side, waiting to be placed where needed. 

“It means we must ensure she stays a Queen.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll get to the fallout in King's Landing next chapter, promise 
> 
> Also I have a LOTS of feelings about Doran and Arianne and will absolutely lose it if they are killed in TWOW, dammit.


	9. Of crowns, their folly and our heart - Elia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is primarily flashbacks told through an outline of one event so I've broken the present and past with *, hope that keeps it clear but doesn't break the flow too much

Elia hated the throne room. 

Until recently, she could only associate the massive hall with death and madness, where stone dragons watched the folly of men with no eyes. 

Now she and Rhaegar were preparing to enter the hall for the coronation. She wished Oberyn or Doran were here - not to witness her being crowned, but simply to remember what it was to truly feel safe. There was Uncle Lewyn, of course, and his presence was a great boon. And with Aerys gone, she could finally erase the little tapping within her brain, the bit that wondered if Aerys would for some reason turn on her uncle for no reason. 

Just like he could have done with her at any moment since he had forced her to return to the capital.

She closed her eyes. 

_As he boasted once that he could do to Rhaenys or Aegon._ In just one swift motion, he could have burned them before her eyes, taken their lives - the pulse of heart.

 _Aerys is gone,_ she repeated to herself. 

_Gone, gone, gone._

_Dust beneath the Sept._

Elia opened her eyes as she exhaled a deep breath, shedding those nerves. She let her eyes trail just slightly to her side to take in Rhaegar. He was resplendent in a doublet of black and scarlet red, the latter color matching her own gown. And yet of course he looked completely calm, as if nothing were amiss.

_It’s not as though his father died by drinking wildfire. Mixed with his own blood._

_Or a Lord Paramount was burned alive._

_Right here._

_Aerys died here too._

She had dreamt of the day that they would be rid of Aerys - not so she could wear a crown, but so that they could _truly_ breathe. And yet now here they were and her breath felt measured once more. It had only been a few days since that disastrous meeting with Robert Baratheon and the Starks - since she was slapped in the face with the reality of her husband’s folly. 

*

 _‘I am his wife!’_ the Stark girl had yelled. 

Everything had become a buzz - a hum - as soon as Elia heard those words. It was as though she were falling through a tunnel while remaining still the entire time. The flashes of some of her warmest memories washed over her - perhaps in a bid by her mind to cradle her: playing in the Water Gardens with Oberyn when they were young and Doran and their mother watching over them; Rhaenys - _Rhaenys,_ precocious and running and laughing with Viserys; and Aegon, her sweet babe, nestled in her arms while Rhaella sang a sweet tune. The memories, images, battled against the overwhelming beat of her heart that roared throughout her. 

“Elia?” a voice had called out to her.

She snapped backwards, cold from the loss of her most comforting moments and then a hand grasped her own, thin but secure.

 _Rhaella_. 

_‘She is to be my second wife,’_ her husband then said. 

It had been her good-mother that had convinced Rhaegar that he should not insist on Lyanna being part of the coronation. 

“It is too soon to force such change after the actions of your father. Let the High Septon approve whatever you intend,” Rhaella had told him after Robert Baratheon left the room and then the Starks, the girl included. “Hold a simple coronation that shall not cost much to show there is a peaceful transition between your father’s reign and yours, that there is stability.” By some miracle, Rhaegar had nodded in agreement, saying that the ceremony was not what mattered. Then they had all bid each other goodbye for the day. 

_Well…_

It had not really been _that_ simple. Would that it were. 

Robert Baratheon had to be restrained and then taken away from the room with his grandmother left to deal with him until proper negotiations could be held. And Brandon...Brandon Stark looked at Rhaegar with such contempt, it was a miracle that he did not lash out like the stormlord. But Elia had realized through the past few weeks, as she and Brandon had spoken more time in each other’s company, that he was a changed man. Witnessing his father's death may have taken some of his brashness and impulsiveness...

But in their place, they seemed to have been replaced by something deeper - a cold anger, waiting to be unleashed. 

“I never liked my maester’s lessons,” Brandon had finally responded, his voice holding no ounce of emotion. “But I paid attention all the same. And I don’t remember learning of your southern gods approving of two wives.” 

“As a matter of fact, Lord Stark, we wed by...by the old gods. A heart tree at the Isle of Faces.” 

The look in Brandon Stark’s eyes right then made Robert Baratheon seem like a mere fawn. Then he laughed. Quietly at first, before it grew into a roar. 

“Get your little advisors, set the meeting,” he gritted after his bitter laughter subsided, “and we will deal with this. You’ll not take my sister in the night and make a mockery of our gods.” His words were complimented by a feral smile and wild eyes as he shook his head slowly. “My father did not consent to that wedding, _he_ did not bring her before a heart tree.”

“Brandon, it was done properly! I pro - “

“Lyanna,” he whispered but it came out like a growl. “If you have any love for our family, you will remain quiet - now.” The girl turned even paler than she already was. 

Then his eyes turned Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell - they all knew the two had been with Rhaegar at the time. “Neither you nor these so-called knights had any authority to bring her there.” Brandon’s voice was so chilly, Elia thought he had brought the full force of winter down upon them. Then quickly his attentions were set back on Rhaegar. “And if you think I shall watch you be crowned, you are as much a fool as I thought you were,” he finished before moving to exit and take both his siblings with him, though the girl went with a torn expression. Just before he walked through the door, his eyes landed on Elia for a few moments before he left. 

*

And so here they were, she and Rhaegar, walking through up to the Iron Throne to be crowned and begin their reign as King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Rhaella stood to the side of the steps to the awful throne holding Aegon, while Rhaenys stood with Viserys as they held each other’s hand. 

The whole court had heard of the King’s return as soon as he appeared but the whispers were all about Lyanna Stark and how she had not been kidnapped. Then of course, lords and ladies recalled the King’s crowning of the girl at Harrenhal and took this latest development as confirmation that he had taken her as a mistress as many had suspected he had done already at that blasted tourney. 

Of course, none knew that he intended to do something his ancestors had not done since Maegor the Cruel. 

Elia wanted no part in the gossip nonetheless, it did her no good to fuel it. The more people regarded Lyanna Stark as someone who had the favor of the King, the more her position and influence could grow at court - whether the girl realized it or not. Somehow though, Elia did not think the girl had the faintest clue how the court worked - or that she even cared. 

*

“In a way I pity her,” she had told Rhaegar after the absurd meeting with all involved parties. The children were asleep by the time they were finished. So she and her husband - _I may have to say ‘our husband’ soon_ \- retired to his solar to speak finally. 

“But perhaps she does not warrant my thoughts when she did not herself spare me hers. But you are the one who has truly done me ill, husband.” 

“It was not meant as a slight, I have told you - “

"Are my needs, my life less worthy than hers?"

Her words were met with a sigh. As though by voicing her frustration it was somehow a slight against him. 

“Of course, now the realm will see us as foes even if we are not,” Elia continued without emotion. “She, the young, vibrant and fair northern girl...to me, the older, sickly Dornishwoman.” 

“I wish you would not speak of yourself as such, Elia,” he said with a deep and frustrated sigh. _And there came the hint of melancholy, always rearing its head eventually._ “I do not see you that way.” 

“You have made it so the whole realm sees me that way. You’re a fool if you do not realize that. Never mind that I gave you _two_ healthy children in less than _two_ years - something most women do not do. No one will talk about that, of course,” she added the last as an aside. “No, now I am seen only in contrast to her, I will be defined by her, as the impediment to your perfect love story. How perfectly marvelous for me.” 

“I do all of this for the realm!” he yelled in frustration. 

“You fucked a girl for the realm?” she asked with false innocence. “If you were not intending on defying the Seven, I would think you’ve been praying daily in thanks to them that it is not Pycelle you were required to fuck.” 

That shut him up, but only for a moment. 

“I told you before - the dragon must have three heads.” 

“How could I forget? It was not so long after I nearly died birthing our son.” 

He winced at that but was clearly not discomfited enough to stop talking. “All the signs were there, Elia,” he pleaded. “An ice maiden, the False Spring - I merely followed the signs, you see.” 

Elia looked up and closed her eyes with a hum of a prayer, trying to calm herself. It wasn’t Rhaella’s fault she could not be there more for him when he was a child, but the Queen wondered if her good-mother had been right - if she’d been able to be with him more as he grew up, would he still be so utterly delusional? Had books and privilege and Aerys somehow knotted into one rotten bundle in his brain? 

Then she opened her eyes to look back at him. “Rhaegar, I do not want to discuss your prophecy. If you had paid more attention to all the books, you would know how fickle such a thing is - that you cannot force it to be. And how do you not know it is not Viserys - or his future children?” He looked at her as though she had slapped him and then the smallest ripple of uncertainty flashed over his eyes - perhaps _he has his own doubts, but will not say it._

Then a thought occurred to her. “What would you have done if your father had killed Rhaenys and Aegon? What of your three heads then?” 

She should not have relished it, but she could not fight the victory she felt in seeing the horror cross his face then. _Let him know what his actions could have wrought._ “Yes, he often taunted me as such once we came here from Dragonstone upon his order. While you were the gods know where with your ‘ice maiden.’ He said he could burn them - “ 

“Elia - “ 

“ - but what would be the point when you did not care? Then he realized it was best to keep Dorne in line by keeping the children and myself alive.” 

“He would never - 

“I can’t even imagine you care that their lives were in such a precarious state,” she continued in a blithe stream of thought. “Mine was as well, of course, but we both know that you care not for me. But I had thought that you perhaps loved the children. I suppose you would just recreate them with the Lady Lyanna and - ” 

“I didn’t know he would call you here! And I never thought he would hurt them!” he shouted, displaying more emotion than Elia had ever seen from him and she found herself shocked. “And of course I love them and you!” 

Elia studied him, the man she thought she had grown to love - and perhaps he had too for her - after she'd been forced into the marriage. Everyone thought she and her mother were some Dornish witches that schemed for it; or that somehow Dorne was powerful enough to bend Aerys to her will. In truth, it was the King’s demand and one did not refuse Aerys, after all. Elia had just wanted to remain in Dorne, if she could have. 

She brought herself to the present once more and took in the visage of her husband. Walking slowly, she closed the small gap between them and gently placed a hand on his cheek. She could see curiosity - and hope - in his eyes before they flitted to her lips briefly. _Does he believe I shall just move past this? That we can be as we were in that first year of marriage, hidden away on Dragonstone?_ After a few moments of letting the tension build, she finally spoke. 

“You do not know what love is, Rhaegar. You should not pretend at it.” Her words were not malicious - just bittersweet. 

Before he could try to argue with her, she continued. “I will call on the High Septon tomorrow to arrange the crowning. Heed your mother’s words - do not dare bring the girl on that day when you are not married in the eyes of the Faith.”

“I already told both you and mother, I shall not,” he confirmed wearily. “I will explain it to Lyanna.” 

She fixed him with a cool but curious gaze. “Does she know of the prophecy, of what you want from her?” His eyes widened before he attempted to school his face and she could only let out a laugh though it was mirthless. She shook her head, wishing she could run away in the night with the children to Dorne. But that was only a fantasy. What she wanted was never a true option, of course. For now, she knew she could only end the day finally and try to find rest. “I only hope you can understand that you have begun your reign on the shakiest of grounds, and it is in no small part due to your own actions.”

* 

Large applause welcomed them both as they were both crowned by the High Septon. She and Rhaegar both turned to acknowledge the crowd before descending down the steps. When they reached the bottom, they went to Rhaella and Aegon first. The babe of a prince did not seem to like the loud clapping, squirming in his grandmother’s arms, but settling a bit when he saw his mother. 

“Are you king now, brother?” Viserys asked solemnly. Elia had taken the moment to go to Rhaenys, bending down to kiss her cheek and smooth her hair as the toddler toyed with the bracelets on her wrists excitedly. 

Rhaegar smiled at the young boy. “I am, Viserys.” 

“Like father?” the young prince asked, utterly unaware of what could lay behind such a question were anyone else asking it. 

“I am King,” was all Rhaegar could reply. Then he turned to Rhaenys just as Elia had slipped her hand away from her. “My little dragon, did you enjoy the ceremony?” he asked his daughter. 

Rhaenys leaned into Viserys, her chin tucked into her chest as she looked down and away from her father. 

“She must be tired, I’m sure,” Rhaegar said, his face slightly tight. Uncle Lewyn picked up Rhaenys then so they could all leave, and Elia cupped her daughter’s cheek softly, earning a small smile of relief. The King looked on with no words. 

*

The day after the Awful Horrendous Meeting and after Rhaegar first returned, he insisted on seeing the children first thing in the morning. Elia had wanted time to prepare Rhaenys but he would not be persuaded otherwise.

When they walked into the nursery, Rhaenys was there sitting on a small rug in a light green dress and playing with a wooden dragon toy as the nursemaid changed Aegon into his day clothes. 

“Good morning, my little sun,” Elia called to the toddler as they walked in. 

“Mama!!” she shouted when she saw her mother, as a bright smile swept over her face and she stood up to toddle quickly over to her. But then she saw Rhaegar behind Elia and her smile was gone within less than a moment as she stopped in her tracks abruptly. 

Elia went to her and gently picked her up as Rhaegar joined them. “Rhaenys,” he breathed excitedly. “How I missed you, my little dragon.” 

Rhaenys looked at her father, her brows furrowing in dismay before she buried her head into her mother’s chest and clutched her small arms around Elia’s shoulders. 

“Rhaenys?” Rhaegar asked with confusion. “What is wrong?” The toddler’s only response was to tighten her hold on her mother. 

Her sweet girl was at the stage where she was so excited to use any and all words she could form every day. And when she used none now, Elia knew she was upset. When Rhaegar first left Dragonstone, Rhaenys had asked for him every day, multiple times a day. And then when they arrived in the capital, Elia was afraid it was too much change - and bad change - in such a short period of time. 

“She has not seen you in months,” Elia explained slowly, trying to be patient so as not to upset Rhaenys further. “She missed you, asked for you.” Her hands caressed her daughter’s hair soothingly. “And all she knows is that you have not been here. Your prophecy, your reasons mean nothing to her.” 

Elia could see the slight horror take over his face but he seemed to shake it away as he approached their daughter once more. “Rhaenys,” he said, gently placing one hand on the back of her head and soft brown hair and trying to look at her face. But her only response was to turn her head to the other side. 

“Please, Rhaegar,” Elia said softly. “You cannot expect her to be happy just because you want it.” 

And that was the crux of it, was it not? He expected everything to be as it should - because how else should life be for him? 

Then Rhaenys shifted her head to look up at her mother. “Stuck?” 

“Stuck?” Rhaegar asked in confusion. “What does she mean? She’s not stuck anywhere.” 

Elia breathed out a small laugh because the situation just felt utterly preposterous. “She means _Stark_ \- Brandon Stark.” 

“What? Why is she asking for him?” Now he was truly horrified. 

“He has been here these past few weeks, and Rhaenys has taken a shine to him.” 

“Stuuuuuck,” Rhaenys repeated, this time more adamantly. 

Elia rose with her daughter in her arms. “It seems your fondness for the Starks runs in the blood,” she told him dryly before turning her gaze to Rhaenys softly. “Come, my love. Let us find Lord Stark, shall we?” The young princess was running her hands along the sheer ivory fabric of Elia’s dress sleeves. She looked up and nodded with wide eyes. 

“Elia.” She turned at his call. It was melancholy as ever. When she looked at him from the door, he was holding Aegon now. “I’m still their father.” 

She gazed at him with a feigned quizzical expression. “Are you reminding me - or yourself?” 

She was told that she could find Lord Stark in the godswood of the Red Keep. She wondered if anyone had worshipped there since perhaps Betha Blackwood. As they approached the entrance to the wooded area, she asked Ser Jaime and Ser Jonothor to wait on the outside in case Lord Stark was at prayer. 

When they entered the secluded grove, she found Brandon’s back facing them. He was kneeling in front of a large tree, though his head was not bent in prayer as far as Elia could tell. She had hoped to enter the area quietly but as soon as Rhaenys saw him, she called out excitedly. “Stuck!!!!” And then squirmed down from Elia’s arms to run over to him. He stayed kneeling before turning to them and greeting Rhaenys with a mischievous smile. 

“Princess, where have you been? I’ve not seen you in a few days,” he chastised though his tone was warm. 

“Playing! With Vissy,” she answered, tiling her head as though it were utterly obvious. Brandon shook his head, laughing richly, before his eyes landed on Elia. He rose to stand, pushing away his dark loose hair from his face. He was clad in a grey tunic that day. She suspected the heat of the capital forced him to shed his leather doublet. It felt slightly chilly to Elia, but she supposed that is was rather warm here for a northerner. 

A few beats of silence reigned between them before he spoke. “My Queen,” he greeted her, his voice more somber, deep in its northern timbre. 

“Have we returned to our formal titles then, Lord Stark?” she asked jokingly, but her voice shook a bit. She was nervous, she realized. Had his anger over Rhaegar’s actions transferred to her as well now? 

But then he smiled, genuine and warm. And his eyes were dark and sincere. “Elia.”

That made her smile - until a voice inside her woke her: _I should not like how my name sounds just because he says it._

She cleared her throat. “Rhaenys asked to see you. I hope we have not disturbed your prayers?” 

He looked back to the tree. “This is not like any godswood I know. This heart tree is oak and does not even have a face. I don’t think my gods can see me here,” he observed with a bit of unease. “So no, you’ve not disturbed me. I’m glad to see you - “ His eyes seemed to widen at the realization of his words before he spoke again quickly. “See you both, I mean.” His eyes went to Rhaenys then and in with quick movement and a grin, he picked the little girl up and placed her atop his shoulders, winning an excited squeal from her.

“Come, Princess. You’ve a duty now - you must show me this godswood of yours. Are you up to the task?” he asked seriously as she placed her small hands under his bearded chin to hold on. 

“Yes! Go, go!” she commanded, urging him forward. 

“Rhaenys!” Elia chastised but letting out a small laugh at the same time. 

Her daughter looked at her seriously for a moment and then inclined her head to the side and down to look at Brandon. “Please?” 

“I am yours to command,” he grinned wolfishly. “Come now, I see there’s some water there.” And so they began to walk through the wooded area, more secluded than the rest of the gardens. They walked past a few tall black cottonwood and elm trees before they arrived at the edge that looked out to the river. 

The wind breezed past them, rustling the skirt of her silk ivory gown and teasing at Elia’s hair. She’d worn it half-up and half-down that morning, too tired from the previous day’s events to bother with an elaborate styling. She looked to Brandon and Rhaenys perched on his shoulders merrily. “Are you sure you do not mind?” she asked. “I would hate to trouble you - “

“I do not mind,” he assured her. “After everything that has happened...” His face tightened as he looked into the distance for a moment before returning to her. “It is nice to find some relief in the laughter of this wee rascal.” 

“She does have that effect, easing one’s woes,” Elia commented wistfully. Then they stood at the overlook for a bit, taking in the river below as Rhaenys peered at birds flying above them. 

“How are you?” Brandon asked. 

Elia could not stifle a short laugh.“Oh, you know. My husband intends on making me a sister-wife, so my life is certainly on the path I always wanted.,” she replied with a dry grin.

“I’m surprised you can laugh at it,” he observed though he looked amused. 

“And I was surprised at the restraint you showed with my husband yesterday,” she dared to say and hoped he would not take offense at the remembrance of yesterday’s events. But it hung in the air like the stench of death and there was no use ignoring it. 

“I’ve had time to reflect,” he began, his words coming out slowly. “And as my...actions have only brought ruin here, I am trying to weigh what I do more carefully.” 

She could hear the restraint in his voice and wondered what lay underneath. But all she could do was nod and try not to give him a pitiful look of sympathy. “How are you?” she finally returned quietly.

Rhaenys began to direct him to another patch of the godswood then and so they walked there so she could look at a squirrel on a branch. 

“I..I do not know how to answer that.” He was looking up at the tree now but his eyes did not seem focused. It was then that Rhaenys demanded to be put back on the ground so she could run after the squirrel she had been watching. Brandon placed her on the grass, and she went as quickly as her small legs would let her in search of the small beast. The northern lord’s eyes turned to look across to the faceless heart tree. “Lost...furious...I wake every morning, and I can’t believe I live in a world without my father. And it is by my doing.” 

“Brandon,” Elia began, moving to him and placing one hand on his arm gently. His eyes turned and focused on her. “You came in search of your sister. You could not have known what Aerys would do.” 

“I should have known better.” 

“It does not make it your fault.” 

He laughed mirthlessly. “You’re too kind to me, I do not understand why.” 

“I suppose I have rather a soft spot for those who love their families so deeply they would do anything,” she confessed. 

“Why did you do it?” he asked as he gazed down at her. “I know what you said before - and you know I am grateful. What you did saved my life. But he could have hurt you, Elia...he _did_ ,” he whispered urgently, his eyes intense. But there was no anger there, just worry, desperation. It almost seemed like he was going to reach out to touch her cheek that had been hurt by Aerys, but he did not. “He could have done worse, surely you know that.” 

Elia looked up at him, at a loss for words at first and she wondered if her expression conveyed that. “I do know that. So many thoughts ran through my head that horrible afternoon, Brandon.” She was trying to keep her voice steady but she could but help the occasional break. “I thought of what would come with him killing your father,” she said quietly. “Then I saw you - and I imagined myself, straining for my children. I suppose at first I saw myself in you - and my children in your father. All of us pushed to a place we’d not wanted to be. And then I saw any hope of peace disappearing if I did not try.” 

“There were so many people there, your bloody southron white knights! And they just...watched! Why? How can that be?” he asked, anger lacing his words now. 

“That’s just it. I wondered when it would stop... _if_ it would stop?” Her eyes traveled to Rhaenys who was standing not far but looking up at a tree where the squirrel had climbed up. “Instability...war...it will only bring ruin for them, I know it - in my bones. And I cannot imagine life without them.” 

Brandon followed her eyes to the toddler and smiled. “I’m quite fond of her. She seems a tough little one.” 

“I believe the feeling is mutual, Brandon. And yes, I like to think she is quite tough,” Elia smiled warmly before the previous events of the morning ran through her mind. “She’s very confused about her father, I think.” 

“How so?” 

“He left so suddenly and I think she could not make sense of it. And then we came here…” Elia sighed. “She is upset with him, I know that.” 

“Well, then she’s smart as well,” he muttered. “Half the realm would champion her.” That garnered a snort of a laugh from Elia which drew out a laugh from Brandon, first softly. Then they both laughed without a care to hold it back. 

“Oh,” Elia breathed, trying to collect herself and wiping away some of the tears of laughter that had escaped. “It feels good to laugh.” 

“Aye,” he concurred as his own laughter slowed. Then she realized he was staring at her. Slowly he brought one hand to her face, pausing for a moment as though he were waiting for her to pull back - but she did not. And gently, his fingers grazed over her cheek. “You missed a few,” he said quietly, his voice low and deep. “I am glad these are from joy and not sorrow.” 

Something inside her told her she should pull back from his touch, that it was inappropriate. Perhaps it was the fact they were alone, secluded from the harsh world around them, that she did not stop him - and instead let herself relish in the exhilarating calm she felt at that moment. The breeze from the river sailed around them, crisp, raw and soothing. “I suppose we must be glad when we can find some happiness to hold onto in this world,” she whispered, warm brown eyes meeting the steely grey of the north. 

It was then that Rhaenys scurried back over to them. They both seemed to wake from their thoughts in a start. “Sit?” the toddler prodded her mother, tugging on the ivory skirt of her dress. 

“Of course, my love,” she said in a rush, taking a seat in the grass and tearing her gaze away from the northerner quickly. Elia could feel his eyes on her but dared not meet them. “What do you have here?” she asked Rhaenys looking at a bundle in her hands. 

“Flowers, mama,” she whispered excitedly, handing her a few ragged red pieces. 

“Those were under your mummer's heart tree,” Brandon said, as though he found his voice anew. He’d taken a seat on the grass as well.

Elia continued to keep her eyes away from him and instead focused on the dark red flowers in her daughter's hands. “They’re called Dragon’s breath.” 

He scoffed lightly. “Of course they are. They remind me a bit of the leaves of a weirwood tree,” he remarked fondly. “I suppose that was the intention.” 

With Elia sitting, Rhaenys began to run her fingers through her mother’s hair before placing a few pieces of dragon’s breath in her dark brown hair where the loose strands met the part tied away. “Thank you,” Elia whispered to her daughter before bending her head down to kiss her cheek and then tickle her. 

“You look a bit like a weirwood tree now,” Brandon observed with a half-smile. 

She gave him a puzzled look with the threat of offense taken. “Should I take that as a compliment?” 

He nodded to her ivory dress. “Your white gown, the dark red flowers. And yes, I meant that as a compliment, my Queen. Weirwoods are...quite beautiful.” 

Elia had always thought northerners and their accents to be harsh and cold, just like their climate. But now she found her mind changed. 

“I’m not lying,” he said, breaking her from her thoughts when she did not reply. “It truly was a compliment.”

“No, I - I was just thinking your accent is...different than I once thought northerners would speak.” 

“Oh?” he asked, intrigued. “What is it like then?” 

_Comforting, warm_. “Just different, that is all.” 

Rhaenys tumbled into Elia’s lap then, playing with the skirt of her gown and humming to herself. “I should perhaps take her back to the Keep soon,” Elia finally said, her voice quiet. Somehow they had managed not to talk about the one thing that they really should have talked about. “Are you ready to meet with the Small Council...and him?” she asked, running her hand through Rhaenys’s hair gently. 

There was only silence and the sound of the river nearby and leaves rustling for a few moments. Then Brandon spoke once more. “As ready as one can be, I suppose. Should I expect him to be as mad as his father?” 

“No, but….but his unpredictability…” 

“Are you certain he understands what his own father has done?” There was no malice in his tone, just earnestness. “Of what he is trying to do with my sister?” 

She raised her eyes slowly from her daughter to him, meeting his eyes with naked honesty. “There are very few things of which I am certain anymore, Brandon.” 

*

It felt like some kind of miracle that the coronation had gone so smoothly. No surprises, no incidents. All as it should be, as much as that ever was possible. 

The reception was to be held the next day after they held the first negotiation to resolve the woes brought on by both Aerys and Rhaegar. And so the next morning they commenced - beginning with House Baratheon. 

When Elia and Rhaegar entered the room, Rhaelle Baratheon was already there, waiting for them and the necessary members of the small council who would attend. 

“Aunt, thank you for joining,” Rhaegar greeted her, unable to hide the wariness he clearly felt in her presence. “Will Cousin Robert be here soon?” 

“Oh, I’m afraid you shall have to settle for me, nephew. As it happens, my grandson shall not be attending.” 

“What?” the King asked, incredulous. Even Elia could not hide her surprise at that information. “What do you mean?” 

“‘ _It’s really quite simple_.’” She enunciated each word with delight. Elia's quickly went back to The Worst Meeting as she heard Rhaelle repeat Rhaegar’s own words. 

And then Lady Baratheon smiled pleasantly. “He’s no longer in the capital.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Elia's conversation with Rhaegar is really my version of a very mini-meta/critique on the way GRRM has partly written her role in the books. 
> 
> -I find it laughable that people think Elia's mother held the power in arranging the marraige with Rhaegar - just because of what Oberyn *kind of* said? At the end of the day, Aerys decided and he wasn't gonna listen to anyone but himself. Like gtfo here lol
> 
> -This was supposed to be my funny and slightly more political and non-angsty fic since my other fic is ALL angst - and then I just leaned in real strong on Elia and Brandon. Le sigh. 
> 
> -And finally - drop a comment and a kudos while you're here


	10. A delicate dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Multi POV comin' at you

She did not often come to the capital. 

Since Rhaelle Baratheon was sent away as a child to Storm’s End, the Targaryen princess only came to her first home sparingly and even then, never for long. That was perhaps why the memory of when she first left was so firmly ingrained in her mind. 

Betha Blackwood had tried hard to set her children onto good paths for marriage, arranged as they were - and all for naught. One by one, those plans fell away. It was the night before Rhaelle’s departure when she saw her mother speak to her father like no one ever dared. Rhaelle, tiny as she was, had snuck into her father’s solar and hidden herself away behind a cabinet in the corner as she watched her parents. 

“If you had only said no to Dunc, none of this would have come to pass,” her mother had yelled at her father. Her mother's dark hair was loose and wild, flowing strong. “But you let him do as he pleased and now the others follow suit - and we lose our little girl before she has even bled!” 

“It had to be done, you know that,” King Aegon had bemoaned. “Do you think I want this?” 

“Your reforms will hold no sway now, surely you know that,” she scoffed. “And all because you let our children do as they please.”

His face was solemn - though unyielding. “Who was I to say no when _we_ married for love?” 

“The King!” Betha answered resolutely. “And our children have a duty to respect the agreements we make with the noble houses - what is our word good for if it crumbles to dust so easily?” She paused to collect herself but her breath was already broken. “How do we ever explain this to her?” Then her mother collapsed onto the chair with a small sob. “Rhae is so young,” she whispered, shaking her head in sorrow, her dark locks still and quiet now. 

The King walked over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder carefully. “She has always been dutiful and strong. I’m sure she will do well with Lyonel and his family.” 

Rhaelle had inched away then, her mother’s sobs fading into the air as she crept back to her bedroom. 

The next day she was sent off to Storm’s End, watching as the red castle grew smaller and smaller, blurring into nothing eventually in her tears.

Now as a woman decades older, sitting once more in the Red Keep before her brother’s grandson, she could not help but think back to that moment.

_So many men who hold power abandon their duty and then foist it upon others._

_No more._

Rhaegar was staring at her in shock. “What do you mean - ‘he is no longer in the capital?’” 

Rhaelle Baratheon looked upon her great-nephew, now King, with a dull expression. “Robert has left.” _Surely that was clear enough._

The only response she was given were owlish blinks of the eye. 

“He is _literally_ not here,” she continued, observing what appeared to be befuddlement on his face before taking a seat at the table. “Neither body nor soul. I’m not sure how much clearer I could be.” She watched as the young King clearly found himself frustrated by her words. 

“We had thought he would be here, aunt, as he is the head of House Baratheon. Are you -?”

“Am I going to represent him? No, I just came here to see if you think this dress flatters me,” she answered with a small flourish of her hand across her skirt.

His lips formed a tight, thin line. 

“Consider me his envoy,” Rhaelle answered resolutely. “Or do I need to explain that as well?”

“I understand,” Rhaegar replied in a somewhat strained tone. “Let us begin then.” 

_Good,_ she thought to herself in satisfaction. _Now you may learn what it is to not have every being around you fall at your feet._

As they all took a seat around the table, the older woman took in her crowd. There was the King, of course. Next to him was Queen Elia, who Rhaelle greeted with a genuine smile and look of respect. _But why have the gods cursed you to be saddled with this man, my dear?_ Entering behind the King and Queen had come a man she believed to be the Master of Coin. _Chelsted, is it not?_

Then there were the ever loyal knights - Dayne and Whent - standing sentry by the door. And finally there was one more, she observed, now sitting on the other side of her nephew.

“Lord Connington. I did not expect to see you here.” 

The young stormlord with hair ablaze and eyes a cool contrast gave her an obliging bow. “My lady.”

“Lord Connington thought he could be of service in our...discussion, aunt. He knows the stormlands better than I and offered to be of service, if he could.” 

“Well, I am near thrice his age and know the stormlands enough for us all, but if this is what you want, so be it.” Rhaelle appraised the man. She wondered if this was his audition of sorts to be Hand. The fool Merryweather had been sent off - is a follower to take his place? _Where is Tywin? Surely Rhaegar would have asked the arrogant lion to come back._

It was no matter. In fact, it was better this way. 

“Princess,” Rhaegar began. “Aunt.” Now his tone had become familiar, warm. 

The prince-now-King would fare as well with honeyed words as he would with his harp with Rhaelle. 

Something he would soon find out. 

“I would like to begin by offering my most sincere and ardent apologies for my actions and for interfering with the betrothal between Lord Baratheon and Lady Stark. It was not - “ 

“That will do,” Rhaelle cut him off, ending her words with a bored sigh. “I care not for your reasons nor your false words of apology. You’ll surely spout nonsense to me of your deep love or something of the like.” He could only look at her in shock, that she dare interrupt him so. “It is done and cannot now be undone. How shall you make amends, pray?” 

The King’s eyes flitted briefly to Chelsted before returning to her just as quickly. “To compensate for the betrothal, I would like to offer to pay the dowry you would have received from House Stark.” 

Silence enveloped the room. Chelsted moved and his chair scratched the stone floor and it sounded like the harshest noise imaginable. 

“That is a good start,” the former princess noted. “But I think to show just how _keenly_ you feel the sting of your insult upon House Baratheon, it would do to increase that. Unless the Crown has the same paltry finances as House Stark?” 

Chelsted scoffed in offense. “Of course not! The treasury is dripping in gold! We - “ 

“What our Master of Coin means to say…” Rhaegar gritted out, breaking the second fool’s words before more was revealed. “Yes, we can accommodate that. Would doubling suffice?” 

“It might. Though...” Rhaelle pondered for a moment. “Do you remember what happened the last time House Targaryen broke a Baratheon betrothal?” 

“These circumstances are different.” The Griffin lord decided to insert himself then. “No Targaryen was promised to a Baratheon in this case,” Connington argued. 

_Bold, you are, boy. So be it._

“Do you know, you’re right,” Rhaelle seemingly concurred with a false cheer before a harsh chill took over her face. “This _is_ different. The Crown has disrupted the betrothal and agreement between _two_ noble houses. I wonder that our new King has so little respect for the noble houses of the realm - and when one of those houses is a familian branch no less.” She added the last part with ‘tsk’ and chastising tone as her eyes shifted to Rhaegar. “And after all his father did as well? It says much of how you mean to begin your reign.”

Rhaegar looked at her, his indigo eyes betraying every ounce of annoyance he surely felt. “I assume you have a suggestion for resolution?” 

“Of course,” she noted casually. “As you seem to have forgotten both the past and our family’s history, I wonder if we would not do well to examine it once more at present to find a way forward.” 

“You would ask for more than the dowry?” Connington asked with righteous skepticism.

“If you look back, it took a rebellion, a trial, Duncan relinquishing his claim and then…” Then she paused. Her jaw tightened momentarily before she settled herself and continued. “And then the mistakes of my father and brother were only resolved for good when I was sent away as a child. Is that how we should resolve it now, hmm?” 

Elia let out a short gasp. Rhaelle hated that her theatrics caused her this pain - but she hoped the purpose would be served upon her nephew-King. 

“You...you cannot mean,” Rhaegar began and the older woman found herself genuinely interested in his expression for she had not expected it. He seemed not only upset - but worried. “Rhaenys is too young.”

After a few moments of silence, letting him stew in his thoughts, she finally spoke. “No, that is not what I mean. I shall not ask for your daughter, even as a ward or bride for young Renly as they are near in age together.” She watched the King let out a short sigh of relief. “I shall not demand that which was forced upon me. Nor shall I inflict another wrong upon your _true_ wife after all you have committed. Though I must say, I find it quite surprising that you dare to show such concern for your daughter now when you disappeared without a word for the wise and left behind both your children. I did not think you cared a lick for them. Why start now?” 

Rhaegar’s face winced as though she had slapped him and she knew she had aimed true. Perhaps it was petty, but Rhaelle relished seeing foolish men stew in anger - and all from the truth. _Always a bitter concoction to swallow, the truth._

“So if you do not mean my daughter, what are you suggesting, aunt?”

She smiled pleasantly. “A Baratheon as the next Queen.” 

Silence. Again. 

“You have no girls to speak of though,” the griffin lord said slowly and with confusion. 

“How observant you are. But I _do_ have two grandsons who both shall surely be married soon - one of them shall do to produce a girl within the next few years, I’m sure. And then that which was destroyed by my father and brother may now be rectified. And until a girl is born and the betrothal fulfilled, I propose the Crown’s taxes from Weeping Town’s port go to House Baratheon.” 

Rhaegar looked to Elia then to Connington and then to Chelsted. They all seemed to mull it over before looking back to her.

It was Elia who spoke next. “Princess,” she began with a steady voice. “What if neither of your grandsons has a girl?” 

“Ah, now one of you speaks sense. I’d thought of that. If neither Robert nor Stannis produce a girl who would be of a suitable age with your young prince, then the tax agreement remains.” 

“The dowry payment is one thing. But this is too much, my king,” Connington argued. “Simply because Robert Baratheon lost the girl he wanted?” 

“You think this is about the girl?” Rhaelle scoffed. “This is about the realm knowing that the Crown respects the houses of these lands. Should all lords now fear that House Targaryen can simply take their daughters when they want? That they will be forced to break sacred agreements?” Then her eyes narrowed as she looked at Rhaegar once more. “And this is about House Targaryen acknowledging insult upon insult against House Baratheon. You may also consider a Baratheon as queen payment for the price my son and good-daughter paid to find a bride for you.”

After a brief moment of tense silence, Chelsted cleared his throat. “I believe the treasury can handle these changes,” he added, looking to the King. 

“Yes, fine. Let’s settle this now,” Rhaegar concurred, moving his chair back to rise. 

_So impatient to be done, are we?_ “I am not finished,” Rhaelle said resolutely, holding up one hand. “The remaining point is what shall happen if the betrothal is broken by the Crown.”

The king had reclaimed his seat and gazed at her steadily, with utter certainty. “But we shall not.” 

Before she could stop herself, a snort of incredulous laughter escaped Rhaelle. “You’ll forgive me if I do not believe you, nephew. Look where we find ourselves. Surely you must know we require some guarantee of your word - for your word alone is not enough.” 

“Perhaps a fostering could be arranged in such a case, my lady,” Connington offered, as though it were in his power to do so. _Arrogant boy._

“No, no fostering. I think perhaps a bit of land will do - with a tidy sum to build it up. That should suffice.” 

Rhaegar’s shoulders seemed to ease then. “Well, I think that can be accomplished - only in the event it is necessary, of course. We shall look upon what tracts may serve best.” 

“That won’t be necessary, I think I have an idea for that which may serve.” 

“My lady?”

She looked at him plainly. “Why, Summerhall, of course.”

And there came the silence again - before it was slain by pomp and anger. 

Rhaegar rose from his seat quickly. “You can't be serious!” 

_Of course it's those blasted ruins that inspire this theater._ “If my tone has confused you, let me be clear.” All humor had evaporated from Rhaelle’s face then. “I am quite serious.” 

“That is not possible. You ask too much.”

“I ask less than you have dared.” 

“Summerhall is a Targaryen keep.”

“And I am a Targaryen.”

“You are a _Baratheon_ ,” Connington argued. 

Rhaelle’s head whipped to the red-haired man. “Do not presume tell me who I am, boy.” She held his gaze, harsh and unyielding. “I am a Targaryen, I am Dornish twice over, I am of the First Men and the Riverlands and I am of the stormlands, as well. _I am the realm_. I know exactly who I am and what has come before me.” Then her attention focused on Rhaegar. “And I know what I want - to ensure that enough is done to make sure the heirs of House Targaryen do not commit such acts as you have. What is clear is that the past was not enough to chasten you.” 

He shook his head at her slowly. “Do not ask me for Summerhall, aunt.” 

“I am not asking for Summerhall. I am asking for the Crown to honor its obligations - and seeing as it has a tendency to do otherwise, perhaps an incentive is needed. Are you anticipating the Crown reneging on its obligations?” she asked quizzically. 

“Well, no, but -” 

“Then why should this be so upsetting to you? You’ll only need forfeit your ruined keep if you break your word. Surely by now you would do everything to ensure you keep your word?” 

Before he could speak, it was Elia who rose to the occasion. “Aegon will honor this agreement. I will ensure my son does not renege on his promise. And if for some reason, should anyone interfere with this - then Summerhall is forfeit.” She looked to her husband then. “But that day shall not come to pass, do you not agree, my king?” 

“It shall never come to pass. Never.” 

“Are we in agreement?” Lady Baratheon asked imperiously. 

“We are in agreement. Let us be done with this once and for all,” he said impatiently. 

Rhaelle stood then, peering at her kin with her chin raised. “Good. I hope that what takes place now humbles our family for generations to come.” Then she stared pointedly at her silver-haired nephew. “And that the lessons of the past shall not be necessary ever again.”

She gave a short bow as she began making her way to the door. “Oh, and I shall relay this to Robert upon my return to Storm’s End. If there is anything lacking, he shall reply. And as for House Stark, he can raise that with his companion.” 

“Companion?” Lord Connington asked as Rhaelle got to the door. 

She turned to look at him. “Well, yes. Lord Eddard. He left with Robert as well. Did you not know - where one goes, the other follows?” 

* * *

The reception hall was grand and decorated with flowers that sought to compliment the black and red drapery all around. Lords and ladies flitted about, swirls of silk and velvet spun with fine thread of gold and silver. 

In a past life, Brandon might have relished a celebration such as this. 

But this was not that life. 

He hadn’t wanted to attend the coronation reception. How could he ever raise a glass to the new King?

But Jon Arryn had tried to convince him that it was better to show a face open to reconciliation, no matter that there was none to be had. Or none that he could see. The Vale lord had stayed while Robert and Ned left, wanting to gain a sense of the new layout with Aerys gone, he said. 

He did not completely trust Lord Arryn - not after what Ned had told him about what he heard of him and Lord Tully’s conversation. No, he did not trust him as Ned did. But he would be lying if he said he did not want to see how Rhaegar was perceived and accepted with his mad father gone. 

_Did they think him to be as bright a star as before? Or was he tainted by his actions with Lyanna._

By some miracle, only those in the room that day knew what had been said. But he did not know long it would stay that way. He had told Lyanna he did not want her to attend. And by some larger miracle, she listened. Likely because she was sick of being gossiped about.

 _Marriage_. He loved his sister but even he knew this was folly. 

So he too wanted to get a lay of the lands of the court. That - and he’d grown restless. In body and mind. Most of him wanted to be done with this place. He had hoped to begin negotiations quickly, but Robert’s grandmother had wanted to go first. Saying no to her did not seem an option, and so he was meant to meet with Rhaegar and his lickspittle councillors tomorrow.

And so he was restless, though in different ways. He wanted to leave - _and yet._

His eyes crossed the room then, centering on the crowd of people surrounding the king and queen and his gaze settled on the latter. Elia was dressed in a fine red gown, lined with black and gold thread. He found himself thinking that she could be dressed in a sack and would like a queen. 

The northern lord took a quick but deep sip of wine, and it rippled through him, spurring him like he would a steed. And so he rose from his seat and approached her where she stood with her husband. The king tensed immediately upon his arrival. 

“Lord Stark - “ Rhaegar began before he was cut off. 

“My queen,” Brandon interjected, not sparing a second glance to Rhaegar. “Would you do me the honor of a dance?” 

If he’d been asked to swear it before the gods, he would say he had seen happiness for a mere moment in her eyes when he asked that question. But just as quick, her face was the epitome of courtly politeness. “Of course,” she replied steadily. “it would be my honor.” 

He took her hand and led them to the floor. And as the music began, he seized the moment to lead them as one. Elia looked up at him with raised eyebrows curious for an answer. “You know this dance?”

A mischievous half-grin tugged at the side of his mouth. “Should I be offended you’re surprised? I didn’t know you thought me a heathen, my queen.” 

With their hands clasped together and one pair raised above their heads, Brandon turned her and Elia smiled as she gazed over her shoulder at him. “I shall take that as a yes, then.”

“Well, it sounds a bit familiar. Though this is something new for me.” He turned her once more so that they were facing each other. And his voice had become ever so slightly lower, softer, as he looked at her. “All together new - but I think it good.” 

Elia watched him for a moment and he could see something fall away in her eyes at his words and as his hand cradled the small of her back. “Good,” she repeated quietly. It seemed to be all that she could muster. Then her face changed in expression. “Your brother is gone,” she stated. 

“He is,” Brandon confirmed. “With Robert. There was no point to him being here, he should not have come to begin with.” 

She nodded though looked at him with a curious expression. As they spun, he looked about the room and his eyes landed on Robert’s grandmother and somehow he instinctively straightened his back. 

“That woman scares me,” he muttered. 

Elia followed his gaze and then seemed to stifle a laugh. He could tell she was biting her cheek then, trying to hide the smile attempting to escape.

The young Stark lord looked at her with curious but intrigued eyes. “Does that please you?”

The Queen looked away into the crowd, but the smile had escaped by that point. “Of course it does. How could I not revel in a man trembling before a woman?” 

“I never said I _‘trembled_ ,’” he clarified but laughed all the same. Seeing her smile felt as good as when they teased each other, he found himself thinking as he looked upon her. 

Elia’s eyes shifted from Rhaelle Baratheon back to him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

With a quick shake, he woke himself. “Like what?”

“Like that,” she intoned. 

Then he simply smiled, turning her once more though holding her gaze. “This is how I look I can’t very well change that.”

“You know what my words intended,” she exhaled with a frustrated sigh. 

“Do I? I’m not sure that I do,” he replied innocently as they moved about the dance floor.

Elia schooled her face to neutrality. “I think you take pleasure in vexing me.”

He smiled again. “I take pleasure in seeing you amused.” He turned her once more, then a spin, before they were back facing the other. Then he looked across her shoulder to the dais where the King sat. “Your husband on the other hand - I would take pleasure in ‘vexing’ him, as you say.” 

“I have little trouble believing that,” she replied easily. 

He looked to Rhaegar once more. "The women here fawn over him. I suppose he is a pretty man, your husband.” That earned him a scoff of laughter. “Is that what you prefer?"

“What I prefer does not matter. We cannot always live as such.” 

“And if you did? What would you choose?” he pried. They turned and her gown spun above both their feet.

“That is not how I think,” Elia reiterated. “What good could come of that?”

“Well, it would entertain my curiosity, for one,” he answered as their joined hands raised above their heads and their heads turned to face each other. 

“And that is reason enough?” she inquired. 

“It is _a_ reason. And surely you would not deprive me of such joy, Elia.” Whether he realized or not, Brandon had pulled the queen a bit closer as they continued their dance. 

She looked away as couples circled around them. “I...I’m not sure there would be any point to answering.”

They turned again, and their eyes held to the other once more. “Your words hold great value for me. I am alive because of them, aren’t I? If you’re the knight who saved me, then I suppose words are your sword, my queen.” A wolfish warm smile crossed his face. 

That brought a genuine smile back to her as they stared at each other and turned around the floor. Then within a moment, her smile fell away as she blinked and shook her head slightly. She pulled her body away a bit. “You're doing it again.”

“What?”

“Looking at me.” 

“Well, I have to look somewhere, don’t I?” he reasoned. 

“Not like that,” she pushed, her voice beginning to shake slightly.

His smile fell away then, but his face remained warm. “Perhaps it can’t be helped,” he attested, his voice deep and quiet. His thumb gently swiped along the silk of her dress. All of a sudden, the feel of his hand on her waist, of holding her, felt more pronounced. And when she looked at him, he suddenly felt unmoored and yet utterly grounded. 

He couldn’t decipher what was in her eyes when she spoke however. “I’m sure you mean it as a jape,” Elia uttered quietly, “but when you look at me like that - “ 

“I didn’t mean -” ‘ _A jape??'_ His eyes were honest, he wanted to declare.  
  
“I already run the risk of the court believing I approve of Rhaegar’s actions because they are all fools - ‘she’s Dornish,’ they’ll say,” Elia whispered in imitation and with contempt. “I do not need them to believe the rest of their unfounded beliefs of Dorne are affirmed by me appearing to - to…” 

“To what?” he pried with curiosity. 

“To appear as though...I...because of how you are looking at me - “ she cut herself off as her face flushed in annoyance. 

Brandon looked at her for a moment as he took in her meaning. Then he schooled his face. “Is your husband a good lover?” 

She looked away with a gasp, her face shocked and even redder now. “How can you ask me that after what I just told you?” 

He looked up, away. “Better if you seem angry with me, is it not? And it seems I said enough to draw true ire, I believe.” 

She huffed in exasperation, her lips forming a slight pout. “You know more of the south than I thought, Lord Stark.” 

“So we’re back to Lord Stark, are we?” 

“For now.” 

“I shall pray to the gods - even your new ones - that it is fleeting.” He smiled roguishly then, hoping to win back her levity. 

She looked at him for a brief moment and he was given the comfort from the expression in her eyes that she was not truly angry. Then she looked away once more. “You are maddening, do you know that?” 

“In a good way, I hope?”

She bit her lip, trying to hide a smile. “A good way,” she admitted. 

The song ended and the couples around them began to slip away from the floor, while some waited for a new tune. Their motion together came to a halt, and Brandon paused as he held her, knowing that in a few moments he would need to draw back. Finally he did so slowly, and took her hand in his, bringing it to his lips. “Thank you for the dance,” he told her reverently, his eyes fixed on hers. “My queen.” 

“And you, Lord Stark,” she said loudly, as though she wanted others to know they were simply a lord paying his respects to his Queen. 

For that was what they were, were they not? 

As she walked back to the dais, Elia tried to erase the thoughts and feelings flowing throughout her. Just as she was about to take a seat, she was approached by Rhaelle Baratheon. 

“My queen, it is lovely to see you here after such absurd discussions today,” she greeted her.

“I hope they were satisfactory?” Elia asked as she offered a seat and then sat beside her.. 

“Quite. Though unfortunate that all this was necessary,” Rhaelle commented. “Though to be honest, your fool of a husband may have done me a favor.” 

Elia’s eyebrows raised up in question. “Truly?” 

“Lord Arryn put Robert onto this path before I had a chance to stop him. I think my grandson wanted to marry the Stark girl as much for her as her brother,” she laughed. “Now I will try to steer him for the better.” Elia nodded in understanding and then raised her hand to beckon for a server. “I hope I did not add to your stress. I have no intention of making life harder for you or for Rhaella.” 

“That is kind of you to say. And reassuring,” the queen confirmed with a small nod. “When do you return to Storm’s End?” 

“I shall leave tomorrow.” A server arrived then to pour each of them a glass of wine. “Tis a short journey luckily.”

“How is Stannis? And the youngest boy, Renly?” the queen inquired. 

Rhaelle smiled sadly. “Stannis.” A slight sigh left her unbidden. “I’m not sure I remember the last time he smiled. He and Robert are complete opposites. Robert quite reminds me of my late good-father. Loud, daring - and easy to anger.” 

Well, Elia did not need to be told that. It was evident enough. 

“Stannis on the other hand is quiet and somber.” She took a small sip of wine. “Too much so for his age.” 

“And Renly? What is he like?” 

“Sweet boy. Not a care in the world. Though I dare say he is quite lonely. He’s much younger, you see.” 

“My brother has a daughter about the same age as him, I believe. She’s a darling girl. She does not want for company either - my other brother has seen to that.” 

Rhaelle raised an eyebrow as half a smile tugged at her lips. “So I’ve heard.” 

Elia smiled fondly. “He’s a bit unconventional, Oberyn. But caring and loving. He may be a second son, but in Dorne, he was the third child - your equivalent of a third son, I suppose. It can be hard for them to find their way - spare to the spare, so to speak.” 

“Indeed,” Rhaelle agreed, taking a slow sip of wine. “Renly is a precocious young boy. I do hope to find a good...outlet for him in the future.” 

“If…” Elia paused for a moment before continuing. “If you should ever like, I’m sure my brother would be happy to host him, anyone of your family, if you like. Young Renly might like the Water Gardens. I’ve never met a child who did not.” 

The older Baratheon gazed at her with a shrewd smile. “It is a shame there is not more cooperation between the Stormlands and Dorne. The marches have been quiet as of late. Though It’s always better to ensure such peace remains, of course. Peace should not be taken for granted after all.”

“Of course. Peace is paramount,” Elia agreed. “You know why the Water Gardens were built, I trust?” 

“Of course.” 

“I used to spy on my mother and Doran when I was young. I wanted to hear everything she told him, how she taught him. When I was older, she took me under her wing as well, of course. But the one lesson I remember the most was when I was still young enough for the pools in the Water Gardens. I’d snuck off to find Doran and my mother. They were watching the children playing below. And she told him that she must remember them in everything he does. She told him it was Daenerys that said to her own son.” 

“A beautiful sentiment,” Rhaelle observed. “One, I fear, is never a guiding force here.” 

“Indeed. Though I find myself always remembering that lesson - to think of the children. Mine own, the realm’s.” 

The music filled the room and couples brushed past them in their dance. Elia watched the swaying of skirts and shoulders rising and falling in laughter around them. And before she knew it, as her eyes danced through the room, they inevitably met with the grey eyes of Brandon Stark.

When Elia tore her eyes away and looked back to Rhaelle, she found the older woman gazing back at her with a curious expression. Then the older woman took the Queen’s hand, giving it a soft pat. “You have a good heart, my queen. Take care it does not go without a shield to guard it.” 

All she could do was nod in agreement. 

“Well, I believe it is time I retire. I have enjoyed your company,” Rhaelle said as she stood. Then she moved to embrace the queen and leaned her lips up to her ear.

“I can only steer Robert so much. He is not one to be controlled. Arryn was a fool for thinking so,” she whispered quickly. “And your husband is pursuing madness. You know the Faith won’t stand for it.” 

As they pulled away from the other, Elia looked at her trying to keep her face neutral while registering Rhaelle’s words. “I...I understand,” she replied as her mind began to swirl. 

Rhaelle gave her a slight bow of her head in acknowledgment. “Well, I shall write to your brother about visiting the Water Gardens.” She began to leave the dais but before she did, she turned to Elia once more. 

“Sometimes, my dear, it is best to create new paths for ourselves.”

* * *

As Rhaelle peeled back the sheets of her bed, she realized how tired she was. And how she yearned to be back at Storm’s End. It was something the little girl who had left here would never have imagined would be possible. 

She thought back to a few nights earlier when she bid Robert goodbye. He would not have been able to restrain himself during any negotiation with Rhaegar and so they both decided it was better if he left. As she lay down, a heavy sigh left her, wondering if he would restrain himself from any rash actions. She was not lying when she told the queen she was unsure how long she could hold him back. He never dealt well with being denied something - and Rhaelle did not believe he would start now. 

Outside the window of her chambers, the waves of the Blackwater created a lulling rhythm. _Perhaps the younger Stark will curb him some,_ she thought idly. Brandon Stark had wanted his brother out of the capital too, it seemed. “He says it is unwise for Ned to be here when he is here as well,” Robert had told her before he left. “That he doesn’t trust Rhaegar to not hold them all here or something of the like.” 

The young northern lord wasn’t as foolish as Rhaelle thought, it seemed. Her lids were heavy as she closed her eyes, and her mind thought of watching her grandson ride away with his wolf companion. The moon had gifted them with just a sliver of itself, as they began their journey back to the stag’s home. She hoped Robert would not do anything stupid, at least not before she got back.

Her hand floated over her loose hair, matching the rhythm of the waves. Her mother used to do that when she would not fall asleep - soothing and comforting. Safe. It never failed to send her to dreams.

As she began to fall asleep, Rhaelle went over the day’s events once more. She felt good about what she had accomplished, that she had set in motion pieces that would grant her and her family - all of them - stability for the future.

Or so she hoped. For nothing was ever certain.

 _Would mother be proud,_ she wondered?

And so Rhaelle hoped once more. Because after everything that had happened in her life, that was her deepest reserve. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to channel a bit of what Jon C said about himself in his ADWD chapters, calling himself an arrogant man back in the day. Also what Rhaelle is asking for could seem like a lot -but what Rhaegar did is egregious and violated the norms that lords/vassals expect of the Crown. And on top of everything else...well, I kinda think he's gettin' off light! But my lady has got plans for that $$
> 
> In any case, let me know what you think. Not sure this turned out quite how I wanted but...work is nuts at the moment and will be through the election (and probably after, sigh) so I didn't want to wait much longer. Hopefully at least a couple of updates will come in that time period.
> 
> And continuing with my love of Veep and using gifs from my favorite show ever, here is one that conveys Rhaelle's mood during those talks:  
> 


	11. A question of faith - Rhaegar/Elia

When he woke, Rhaegar could still see his dreams - though he was awake. 

Sense them. 

_Feel_ them.

He rose from his bed with purpose. These past days had been filled with frivolity, though only _he_ could see it as such, of course - see it all for what it really was. But the king knew he must resolve all these inane matters so he could once again focus on what was important. 

Elia was upset, yes, but surely she would move past this, she would come to understand. All of his actions were necessary. 

_None can understand my plight - what I must do._

Lyanna would birth their child. _Is she with child yet?_ he wondered in a rush. _I must go see her after all of this. These distractions have already cost me time._ The High Septon would recognize their marriage and Visenya would be trueborn, just as Rhaenys and Aegon were. 

His three heads. Strong and united. 

And once these trivial lordly games were behind them, he would be able to find out what more was needed of him to defeat the threat ahead. 

_Yes_. 

After readying himself for the day, he walked to Elia’s room confidently. She should have been awake by now, Elia always woke early as soon as the sun rose. They would go to the High Septon together, deal with Brandon Stark and all would be well. How could it not be? 

Bidding Ser Lewyn good morn, Rhaegar entered Elia’s rooms and walked to her bed chambers. When he entered, he stopped short and abruptly at the sight before him. 

The queen was asleep on the bed, her slender figure curled on her side with Rhaenys tucked into her as well. A long pillow was pushed against their daughter, keeping her snug on the bed. His wife’s arm was draped across the toddler, her fingers gently latched to a sleeping basket next to the bed where Aegon slept. He could even hear the rhythm of light snores from his young son. 

It was so beautiful, like a painting. Peaceful, blissful.

 _I should be with them,_ he lamented silently to himself as his mind calmed for a moment though only a moment _. We should all be together._

But too much was at stake to focus on such feelings.

He knew he must be greater. For it was up to _him_ to prevent the danger that was doomed to arise. 

_Wasn’t it?_

“You think too loudly,” Elia whispered, breaking him from his runaway thoughts. 

Rhaegar blinked rapidly as he adjusted to reality and the rising sun glared brightly from the window. “We are to meet with the High Septon this morning,” he told his wife quietly, watching as she slowly rose from the bed so as not to wake their daughter. “I thought perhaps we could break our fast together before then.” 

After rising from the bed, Elia gently pulled the sheet over Rhaenys anew and then looked to him. "She insisted on sleeping here with Aegon last night." He smiled wistfully at that, his little dragon was quite stubborn. Then the queen moved to take her robe from the bed stand, donning it over her shift before walking with gingerly steps towards him. With a small gesture of her head away from the children, he followed as she led the way to her dressing chambers. 

She pushed the door carefully so that it was nearly closed, but a small gap remained so she could hear the children if they awoke. Then she turned to look upon him. "Have you come to make sure I support your absurd farce today?" 

_Must we start like this,_ he thought, exhaling a weary sigh at her clear displeasure. "Would you prefer she be my mistress?" 

The king watched as she perused a few of her gowns. Though her back was to him, he noted how tense her body was suddenly. "I would prefer that you honor the vows we swore to each other.” 

She swept away a gown. 

“I would prefer you think of your family.” 

Another gown was swept away. 

“And I would prefer that you not take actions that threaten the safety of our children.” She turned from the array of silks before her to look at him then. “ _Our children_ , alive and real, flesh and blood!" A pang went through him at that, thinking of her previous words of his father’s threats. "But you have long made clear, husband, that what I prefer is not of your concern."

"I am only acting as is right and necessary, Elia," he explained to her with determination. 

She stared at him steadily. “Just because you believe something does not make it true or right, Rhaegar.”

He let out a deep breath of frustration. _All of this is inconsequential, why must I bear this burden?_ First his aunt sees it fit to trouble him, now his own wife. Must he bear this weight as well in addition to what the prophecy demanded of him? 

A slight shuffle of sheets in the bedroom woke Rhaegar then. “How fares Rhaenys?” he asked. 

“You saw her, she is well. Why would she not be?” his wife replied blithely. 

The king shifted his weight a bit as he straightened his back. “She still...she will not come to me.”

“Because she does not want to. The universe and all of its inhabitants do not all bend to your whims and desires.” Elia turned away from him, her hands skimming along the gowns before her. “And just because you have dreamed of something does not mean it shall come to pass. You are not Daenys,” the queen finished, turning to face him with a crimson dress in hand. 

Rhaegar walked to her, closing the gap between them in a few strides. Elia looked up at him, her eyes both passive and curious somehow. _She used to gaze at me with warmth._ Her hair was still undone from sleep, tumbling across her shoulder in soft waves. Gently he brushed it away, before cupping her cheek. “I will show you, Elia. You will see that I have acted for all of us, including our children.” 

The queen looked up at him for a few moments before speaking. “What would you do if you were me?” 

Confusion engulfed him. “What?” 

“What would you do in my position? If I had done as you have? If I had insulted you thusly? If I put our children’s future at risk?” 

His body tensed. _What an absurd question._ “That is not the point. Nor is it the situation we are in.” 

She laughed softly though it was bitter, not sweet. “You only see what you want, do you not? You cannot begin to imagine what others feel - or how your actions could impact others.” 

“That is all I have been doing!” he exclaimed. Such bold falsity in the face of his attempts to save them all! 

His wife stepped away from him, shaking her head ruefully. “I ask that you excuse me now, my maids shall be here soon.” She gave him one more look that he could not discern. “I must get dressed so we may embarrass ourselves before the High Septon.” 

* * *

Of course he had summoned the High Septon to the Red Keep. 

If Elia had supported Rhaegar and his actions with the northern girl, if she had any desire to be part of her husband’s madness and his insult to her, she would have advised him that it was best if they went to seek the High Septon out, humble as ever. 

But the queen was no lackwit, of course. Why would she support such folly? 

The holy man looked upon the king from across the large wooden table the three adults sat at. He had arrived not long before, with composed courtesy. And it was barely a minute before they had met that the king spoke of what he wanted. 

The High Septon looked upon the new king, seemingly contemplating the words spoken just then. He let silence reign as he pondered the King’s request - _it was really a casual command, I suppose_ \- that he recognize Lyanna as his second wife. 

Rhaegar said it as though he were merely asking for a daily blessing. 

Finally words of reply came. “I am afraid that is not possible, your grace,” the man of the Faith spoke.

Rhaegar blinked. “But of course it is.” 

The thin man paused, blinking back. “It is not.” 

The king’s eyes blinked more rapidly. “It _is_.” 

“Pardon, your grace - but if you repeat your words, it shall not change mine,” the High Septon explained slowly as though Rhaegar were a small child. “Thus I maintain that it is not possible.” 

Elia watched as her husband’s jaw tightened so much, she wondered if it would break. Had he ever been told no by anyone other than his father? 

“Why ever not?” he finally asked. 

“Your grace, surely you are aware that the Faith does not permit such practice.” 

“And surely you are aware that exceptions have been made for House Targaryen,” Rhaegar declared happily, confidently. 

“Not _that_ exception,” the holy man argued.

Silence. Rhaegar had nothing to say. This was beginning to become a pattern. 

“If I recall,” the High Septon finally continued, “it was your ancestor Maegor who last took more than one wife - and he was exiled.” 

“And then he was King,” the silver-haired royal replied sharply. 

“He had dragons,” the High Septon replied with a smile, enunciating each word. The implication was, of course, that they had no dragons to force the issue. 

Rhaegar clasped his hands together placing them in front of him, centered and tight on the table. “But you see, High Septon, she must bear my child. As such, I cannot imagine you would wish a child of the King to be illegitimate. I am, therefore, attempting to do right by the gods.” 

“But whose gods, my King?” The man asked it so pleasantly, one might be forgiven for believing this was not a discussion of the King challenging the realm’s primary worship. “It is my understanding that you have embraced the northern gods.“

Rhaegar’s eyes narrowed. “By whom do you understand that from?” 

The sun seemed to shift then, shining in from the large windows that spread across the room and landing on the High Septon as though to bless him. “Oh, word travels around the capital, as you know. Is it not so?” 

“The Lady Lyanna and I...did exchange vows in front of a heart tree, that much is true.” 

“So by way of the old gods?” he confirmed.

The king cleared his throat, shifting in his large chair uncomfortably. “Indeed.” 

“That is not a ceremony I know nor do the Seven,” the septon replied softly though there was a chill like a sharp breeze cutting the warmth of a sunny afternoon in his words. “Though of course they do appreciate the majesty of the trees and their bounty that spring from the bosom of our lands,” he added with a small bow of his head. 

Elia liked the High Septon. He was all overwhelming courtesy but each word seemed to throw its own dart of poison Why, replace his gown with a silken dress and top him off with a wig from Norvos and he might soar to the greatest heights at court. 

“My Queen,” he said, now turning his attention to Elia. “Do you approve of this path?” 

She could feel Rhaegar’s gaze on her. 

And she did not give a fig of it. 

“I was raised to follow the Seven.” Her words were sweet and soft, her smile demure. “And I have no wish to break with them nor insult them.” The Seven clearly didn’t give a fig about her, of course, but if she could use them to her advantage now _\- well, font of mercy and all the rest._

“Your work for the children of the city could only raise you in their esteem, my Queen,” the High Septon said with praising warmth before turning his attentions back to the king. “To recognize your act with Lady Stark would be both an insult to the Seven and to your wife, the Queen. If you wish to live with the lady without formal recognition, that is beyond our scope, of course.” 

“You prefer that I live in sin than to deem our vows true?” Rhaegar asked incredulously. 

The High Septon quirked his mouth, making a clucking noise as he seemed to ruminate in thought. “I do not support that either. But your choice to live in sin does not require my recognition. A marriage does. And that is something I simply cannot do.” 

“Simple? _Simple_? To deny your King is something you regard as simple?” the king demanded. 

Rhaegar was met by a defiant raise of his chin from his opponent and a cool gaze. “Before you, I must answer to the Seven, you grace. And to honor your request would be to _dishonor_ them.” Elia watched as her husband took in this stance of defiance, rage beginning to ripple in his eyes. 

Then the High Septon spoke. “If I can offer some counsel, your grace.”

“Why restrain yourself now,” Rheagar said in a gritted, tight tone. 

“After your father’s actions over the most recent years, I wonder how others might receive your attempt to challenge the laws of our land in such a fashion.”

Looking upon her husband, normally calm and melancholy, Elia wondered if his eyes had even been indigo - for now they were near black in anger. “I am King.”

“I believe that was your father’s reasoning as well.” 

Rhaegar stood up swiftly from his chair at that. “And I wonder if it is not time for the Crown to reevaluate our taxation policy towards the Faith, High Septon, as well as your land holdings. They are quite generous, are they not?” 

For the first time since they walked into the room, the holy man seemed to lose his mask of calm. His eyes twitched slightly before a thin smile crossed his lips. 

_You fool,_ the queen thought as she fought the urge to roll her eyes at her husband’s threat. _Now you’ve threatened his coin and property_. No man, holy or not, will stand for that.

“If you feel that is what is right, then you must do as you see fit, my King.” He rose from his own chair then. “And I will do as I see fit and pray that the light of the Seven shines on you once more...to bring you away from such darkness.” A chill went down Elia’s spine. 

For as calm and quiet as the man’s words were, somehow the hint of dangerous warning lingered in his voice all the same. 

_'Sometimes it is best to create new paths,_ Rhaelle had advised her. 

And suddenly Elia knew nothing else would be more important than that now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been quite awhile since an update, so many apologies and sorry this was so short. I don't really think Rhaegar would honestly have pressed for the "marriage" to be recognized but it's kind of boring seeing so many fics make it seem like polygamy would be no big deal when that just would not be the case. Hence this plot line and why the High Septon entered the story a few chapters back. 
> 
> In any case, next up will (finally) be the Stark negotiations which I have been putting off getting to cause it's a big turning point. Hopefully I can get the chapter out by this weekend or early next week. 
> 
> Let me know what you thought in the comments (I tried to get into Rhaegar's head and I did not like it one bit) and drop a kudos if so inclined
> 
> Also our regularly scheduled Veep GIF to go with this chapter is Ben conveying the High Septon's response to Rhaegar:  
> 
> 
> And since this was so late, a bonus Veep GIF of the septon's inner thoughts:   
> 


	12. A wolf's desire - Brandon

Light, just a glimmer. 

Within a moment, his eyes adjusted and Brandon wondered if he had ever been asleep at all. His mind was as alert as it had been just before he slept. 

He’d gone to sleep thinking of justice - and he awoke without it having left him, so devoted was the desire. From the day he watched his father burn before him, everything was different. And now everything he did had to be focused on that, on justice. 

One thing he would admit however was that it came in different shades. 

With a swift movement, he rose from his bed - no, not _his_ bed, but the bed he occupied in this pit of a city. It was to be a busy day in the capital and not just for him. He’d learned to listen during his time here. And the young northerner knew what was to happen before he met with the King later this afternoon. The silver devil and Elia were going to meet with the High Septon. About Lyanna. 

Brandon wanted to laugh, it was all so preposterous. He wondered if any of it were real. And more than that, that these southerners thought it was for them only to recognize this so-called marriage. 

That was not a union blessed by his father. Nor the old gods. Perhaps they’d seen it - but it was not true. They may not have the pomp of the southerners and their new gods, but those that watched over the north had their ways. And family was what a marriage was about. 

He wondered how Lya could not see. _Did father not get through to her, teach her?_ _Should I have done more when I was home from the barrowlands?_

Of course he should have. But he had acted as though everything were a certainty - even the things he knew were not. 

Barbrey flashed through his mind before he shut her out. The pang of guilt coursed through him. _I acted without care with her._

He put those thoughts aside and thought ahead to what was to come - and what he needed. What the north needed. 

And then a knock came at the door.

_What is due for father._

* * *

When he walked out he was surprised to find a kingsguard. 

“Ser - “ Then he corrected himself. “Prince Lewyn, is it not?” _Elia’s uncle_ , he thought with piqued curiosity. 

The knight was tall, sun-kissed like the queen though his eyes had a different tint to of strength than hers. And the eyes before Brandon seemed to be taking stock of him. “That is correct,” Lewyn acknowledged with a small bow of his head. “The queen asked that I escort you to the meeting.” 

They began their walk to the council chambers. “Did she think I would lose my way?” _Or that I would barge in yelling if not accompanied by her uncle_ , he wondered with dryness. 

His first answer was a small laugh. “No, though these halls can be a maze if you are not familiar. She asked me to see you to the meeting. She said it was so that you might know the crown values the north.” 

_Values the north_ , he wondered. “She is kind, the queen. I..” he faltered for a moment before regaining his step. “I owe her much.” _My life._ “She has given me more kindness than I deserve.” 

The knight turned to look at him as they walked, giving him a look of study. “If Elia has deemed you worthy of her regard, that is a gift.” 

“Indeed,” Brandon confirmed fondly as their steps led them to the chamber of judgment. 

When he entered, he found the room full with occupants around the table. The ginger storm lord was there. As were two other men that Brandon believed to be the masters of laws and coin respectively. 

And the queen had come too. Elia. 

Part of him felt glad she was there, her presence might keep him calm. He did not want to upset her. 

But part of him wished she had not come - so he did not feel any restraints upon his conduct. 

It was mid-afternoon now. He knew the King had spent the morning meeting with the High Septon and by his face, he did not seem pleased. 

“Lord Stark,” King Rhaegar greeted him solemnly. Brandon only acknowledged him with a look as he made his way to an empty seat at the table. 

“Lord Stark,” a softer voice said then and he looked to Elia. “Welcome.” There was the barest hint of a smile and sympathy in her eyes. 

“My queen,” he returned, with a reverent bow of his head. Finally seated, he turned to the king so that they could begin this and he could find what he needed. 

“Lord Stark,” the king began. “First, I would like to say that words cannot express the abhorrence I feel for what my father did. I do not condone it and would like to take steps to rectify his actions. I hope that his...absence...might be a first step to coming to an agreement that will restore better relations with you and the north.” 

_Such sweet words._ Perhaps he meant them, perhaps he did not. Brandon did not truly care. “Fine, let us begin this.” 

“Of course, I’m sure you are eager to return home. I thought - “

“I have a place for us to begin,” Brandon interrupted. Perhaps it was not the way to handle things with the man that was his liege in name, but he would not let them make the first measly offer. 

Rhaegar cleared his throat. “What did you have in mind?”

He waited a moment, eyeing the king, assessing and sizing him up. “I hope I need not explain to you that what was done to our family...to the north...was a crime.” Tension seemed to fill the room immediately upon his words. “And you’re right, I could not be happier that the world is rid of your mad father. It is not enough, not nearly enough.” Thinking of Aerys brought back flashes of his father, the last time he saw him alive. He closed his eyes briefly as his breath shuddered.

 _No, do not go down that road_. _Find justice_ , he thought to himself. _For father._ He opened his eyes once more and looked directly at Rhaegar. “The north shall halt all taxes to you for a generation. And you’ll make no claims on our incomes nor our labor or goods for a generation.” 

Staunton and Chelsted exchanged glances with each other, but the king simply stared at Brandon Stark. 

“Do you mean to break from the crown, Lord Stark?” he asked with an odd air of calm. “Because your words give the appearance of that - in all but name.” 

A surge of fury bubbled in him, but he tried to ease it away. _A wolf must be as patient as it is fierce, Brandon._ That's what his father had once told him. And so he took a steadying breath before answering. “What would you suggest?” the northerner whispered in a chill, his mouth pulling up with a hint of a snarl. 

“Pardon?” Rhaegar asked.

“What would you suggest?” The words were still cold in repetition but louder now. “What is our justice? We have been robbed of our father, of our warden, of the north’s caretaker. And it was done without truth or honor.” Each word left his lips with care and precision, as he built one onto the other and his voice rose tall. “That was a sham of a - “ He stopped himself with a harsh scoff of laughter. “I shall not even deign to call it a trial for it was nothing but a mockery.” His eyes were fixed, locked on the king. “And no, this is not independence. But what I deem to be halfway down the path. I assume you shall not take any actions to push us further.” 

He wasn’t a fool, Brandon. He could not sit before the king, declare the north free and then simply walk out with a cheer. 

But he could gain something to strengthen the north. To build something of which his father might have been proud. 

“To that end, in my father’s honor you shall also provide the funds for the construction of a northern fleet.” 

Now it was the griffin’s turn to speak it seemed. Or the moment he chose, at least. “What does the north require a fleet for? It sounds as though you mean to create further division between the king and the north.” 

He wondered if his father would have been able to stay calm and patient in front of such ignorance. “Do you know the north at all? The ironborn are our neighbors and I would see Saltspear protected from them as I would see White Harbor shielded from thieves on the sea. And I have no intention of cutting relations with you. In fact, I shall do the opposite.” A bit of confidence flowed through him then. _This was right, this was just._ A knowing smile crossed his lips. “A northern lord of my choosing shall join your small council so you know of events in the north - and us the same. As a means to keep the north more...engaged.” 

“There is already a tie, Lord Stark,” Rhaegar interjected. “Your sister is - ”

“Is what? Did your high priest recognize your mummer’s act you call a wedding?” 

A flush spread quickly across the pale cheeks of the king. And his face tightened as though it would break. “It shall be resolved in due time.” 

“You’ll have to wed her by your new gods then. Do not mock ours by claiming what you did was by their rite or with my father’s blessings. But if you claim that she is our ‘ _tie’_ ,” he said the last word with nearly a hiss. “Then consider a northern lord here as a form of compensation. You forced our house to break its word to House Baratheon.” 

In truth, Brandon did not want his sister to marry Robert anymore. As upset as he was with her, he could not nor ever wish her harm. If he demanded her return, they would be obligated to see the betrothal through. And the way Robert had reacted to her words against him made Brandon worry if - or rather how - he might hold that against Lyanna. 

Of course, he did not see a future in which the High Septon would approve of two marriages. Which left…

There were no good options. 

Nonetheless, the betrothal was broken - and he would see recompense on that score. 

“Altering the small council like this would be drastic,” Lord Staunton cautioned. 

“I concur, my king.” _The griffin again._ “It could lead to others demanding the same, this is too much.” 

Brandon turned his head slowly to look upon the man, his eyes a furious grey steel. “Too much?” Seething anger was barely restrained in his question. 

Connington leaned forward. “You heard me, Stark.” 

The chair Brandon had been sitting in nearly toppled when he rose furiously. His hands quickly braced upon the table as he eyed Connington like prey. “Nothing will be enough for what he and his father have done to my family!!” 

“Please!”The queen had risen from her chair with a cry, her hands raised to ask for calm. “Please, my lords! This will not get us anywhere,” she beseeched. Her eyes shifted to Brandon and he could see the plea in them. Reclaiming his breath, he looked at her and began to ease. He licked his lips hoping to quench the fire. 

“Forgive me, my queen,” he told her with a bow of his head and then letting his eyes settle on hers so she could see his truth. Pulling his doublet to straighten it, he took a seat once more and then looked to the king. “Well, you can say no. And perhaps my bannermen decide they do not quite like that. And what happens then?” 

The red-haired stormlord narrowed his eyes. “You ask that, while you sit here? In front of the king? Is that a threat?” 

“No. Tis just an honest show of what shall come to pass. I can’t leave until the north is given what it is due. And if that takes too long, well, mayhaps they think I’m still a prisoner.” Then his eyes settled once more on Rhaegar. “Of course, you could always kill me and finish off what your father started. Like father, like son.” 

That seemed to break whatever might have been holding the silver man back for he reared back as though he’d been slapped. He rose quickly from the table causing the rest of the room to do so as well. “I am not my father. And I abhor what he did. I...I wish it had not happened, but what is done is done and we could only try to move forward now.” His words were near mournful. Rhaegar looked to the queen then, taking her hand in his and Brandon thought he saw a tightness in her face then. “You have your agreement. However your choice for northern representation will have to be agreed upon here as well.” 

Brandon watched him for a moment, slightly surprised at the pace of the meeting and that it had not taken any horrible turns. “Aye, I can abide by that.” 

“Good,” Rhaegar confirmed with a nod before looking to Staunton. “We shall have the papers drawn up to reflect this and we shall sign them before you depart, Lord Stark.” 

As the others began to file their way out of the room, Brandon remained looking to the queen and king. There was something left in him, something that needed to be said. He waited as the other council members left. Connington remained in the doorway for a moment before the king acknowledged him and waved him off. 

“Is there something else?” Rhaegar asked carefully. 

“I’d ask for a minute to speak with the queen if she will permit.” 

Rhaegar eyed him with a bit of confusion - and perhaps suspicion. “Is something amiss?” 

_Amiss_. He did not know how to begin to answer that query. “No. But it is because of her that I live and for that, I would like to speak with her to express my gratitude.” When he looked to Elia, she was gazing at him in a way that made him feel calm but alive. 

His explanation seemed to ease any worries the king had. Though he did not seem to fully understand Brandon’s meaning. Because he stayed and the northerner wanted the man to leave. 

“I would speak with her alone,” he clarified without emotion. “It is because of her that I did not demand more.” 

Perhaps that was too blunt. For the king’s posture tightened slightly then. “And I would like to hear your words of praise for the queen.” 

_Because you do not know how to honor your wife?_ He took a breath and turned to look at Elia. She smiled as though to urge him to speak. He wanted to ask her what she thought of the agreement, if he had asked for too much, too little. And he wanted to ask how she felt after all of this, after meeting with the septon. _How do you feel?_

Brandon wanted, and he thought - no, _knew_ \- he wanted what he could not have. 

“My queen,” he began slowly, aware that the king was waiting to hear just as much as Elia. “Because of you, I stand here, I am alive.” Gods, there was so much he wanted to say to her - but not with an audience. Not in front of him. 

“And I want to express my undying gratitude for your actions. The north is grateful to you.” His eyes were pure honesty and he felt a warmth he never had looking upon her. He wondered if she could tell. 

She looked at him, not speaking yet. “Lord Stark, as my husband said, what happened to your father was abhorrent. I only hope that what was agreed upon today will help to ease the injustice inflicted upon you and yours. The north…” Her words faded before she seemed to rouse herself to finish. “The north is valued.” 

_Valued_ , that word again. “Perhaps in time, you will have a progress that brings you to Winterfell.” 

That brought a larger smile to her face. “I would like that. If it is not during winter,” she laughed. It was a bright laugh and he would miss it. 

“Yes, a progress will be arranged, I’m sure,” the king added and Brandon realized he had forgotten the man was even there for a moment. _Would that his mind were true._

It was clear the king wished to be done. “I shall wait for the papers to be signed before I depart tomorrow.” He made his way to the door but when he arrived at his exit, he turned around once more. The king had moved to speak with the Dayne knight but she was there watching him leave and when he looked to her, their eyes met with uncertainty - and want. Finally he tore away to make his way to his chambers. 

He would leave tomorrow. _Was this to be how they would part ways? So formal, with their words watched like a show?_

As he wove his way through the maze of the keep, his mind did not wonder. Instead it settled on a course of action. 

* * *

Night was beginning to settle when Prince Lewyn knocked upon the door to his niece’s chambers. A few moments later, she emerged, tying her nightrobe and looking at him with surprise. “Is all well, uncle? Is it the children?” 

He turned to look around before looking back to her. “All is well, niece. It…” he looked down at his hand before handing her a small piece of parchment. “Is this.”

“Who is it from?” Elia asked with a quiet anxiety, taking the missive from her uncle’s hand. 

Lewyn watched as the queen slowly unraveled the message. It was a small thing, that message. But as he watched his niece’s face, the knight wondered at the weight it must have held before he answered. 

“The wolf.” 

_Godswood, before sunrise._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special shout-out and thanks to @witlessmaester for helping me figure out Brandon's agreement, especially the Saltspear fleet! And for helping me think through next steps. Also before anyone anyone gets upset about northern independence, no - there is no N'exit here, y'all. I don't think it's feasible for reasons the character speaks to in the chapter but also the fact that the north is not the wealthiest region and paying more for food from the riverlands and reach during winter would not be great for them. If that upsets you, sorry! It's fanfic 
> 
> Also I actually love Jon C's chapters and am not trying to make him out to be a villain or anything. This is just what I think would be how he might act at this age and this time, trying to do anything he can to prove himself to Rhaegar. 
> 
> Sorry for yet another short chapter but what I wanted to add to this felt out of place so I'll add that to the next chapter. Speaking of - I like to think the last chapter was slightly comedic, this one was slightly dramatic which leaves next...
> 
> On an unrelated note to this fic, if you are in the US and have not voted, PLEASE make sure that you do. If you requested a mail ballot, it is TOO LATE to mail it in due to the cuts to USPS and because a number of state do not count mail-in past election day. In many states, you can drop off your ballot at polling stations or drop boxes, check here: https://iwillvote.com/ 
> 
> All that said, hope you liked the update - you can hit me up on tumblr with thoughts, same username. This chapter's Veep gif is Brandon's inner thoughts when he looks at Rhaegar:  
> 


	13. Of conversations - and what not - in front of a tree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first part takes place while the Stark negotiations are going on. The second part...begins the morning after

Her steps were sure and the path more so. Rhaelle could have walked to her destination with her eyes closed, it was so firmly ingrained in her mind. As she walked through the keep, she remembered that Brandon Stark would be meeting with the King just about now. And with her own deal set, the terms agreed, she was ready to finally leave the capital. The only thing that remained was a visit to her favorite spot - one of the few places that gave her peace in this monstrous castle.

When she lived in the Red Keep, none followed the old gods save her mother. And so its godswood was a place of respite from the clatter and noise of court. Before she was sent to Storm’s End, she’d only known this grove - and that of her mother’s home in the riverlands. It had been ages since she had visited Raventree Hall as a child, but she could still remember pieces of it. It had seemed like a new world compared to the capital - except that it was much older, a castle of ancient stones covered in moss. And the heart tree, she remembered it most of all. Old with barren branches that stretched to the sky, like a hand reaching out to grasp for something it lost. And at dusk, the bare limbs would find new leaves in the company of hundreds of ravens, black as her mother’s hair. Her grandfather told her that the Brackens had poisoned the weirwood and it was dead. When the family had returned to King’s Landing after that visit, young Rhaelle convinced herself that the great tree was still alive and somehow could see her through the oak tree here, faceless though it was. 

The Red Keep’s was a boring tree compared to a weirwood, even a supposedly dead one - but it was what her mother had. _What they’d had_. And by the gods, was it peaceful. So that was all that mattered. When she entered it on this morning, the plants and trees of the grove greeted the Targaryen princess, coupled with the light sounds of birds and insects chirping. Beyond that, she had expected to find the space empty. But perhaps she should not have been surprised that her expectations were summarily tossed to the wind. 

Sitting before the heart tree was the Stark girl. The stirring of Rhaelle’s arrival roused her to stand and look upon her new companion with caution. 

“My lady,” Lyanna Stark greeted her warily. Their eyes roamed the other, each with their own suspicion. “I did not think anyone else would come here.” She began wiping away grass from her breeches though her eyes remained on the new arrival.

Rhaelle stared at her with a face that landed between blank and annoyed. “So,” she sighed. “What do you pray for, Lady Lyanna?” 

The girl gazed at her coldly. “That is between my gods and myself.” 

“My mother followed the old gods as well. They belong to no one person.” Perhaps she should not have prolonged their engagement, but Rhaelle could not help it it seemed. “Tell me, did your gods give you their thoughts on your ’union’ with the king?” 

That provoked an even tighter face, with the girl’s lips turned down in a grimace. “They saw with their own eyes. I need not ask that.” 

She was a slip of a thing, this northerner. And with a wildness in her eyes; one that did not bode well for the world they found themselves in, especially for women - not without something to balance it, to ensure thought and calculation instead of only action or bravado.

But she was not even a woman, was she? 

“You’re just a girl,” Rhaelle pondered, tilting her head slightly as she appraised her once more. 

Lyanna’s grimace turned to righteous anger in a heartbeat. “I am not!” 

“But you are,” Rhaelle replied with a light laugh. “You do not even realize how dangerous a game you are playing.”

That turned the youth’s anger to confusion. “Game? What do you speak of?” 

_Did her father not teach her anything? The maester? Anyone?_ “You truly do not understand the repercussions of what you and my foolish nephew have done, do you?” Of course, Rhaegar was more at fault than this child but unfortunately she had become an actor in all this, nonetheless. _And you will get as much blame as he - though you do not deserve as much._

And now the girl crumbled. “I did not mean for anyone to be hurt!” Her face had started to redden - from the sun or emotion, Rhaelle could not tell. Northerners were not meant for the south, in all manner of ways - that she knew. But then she saw a few tears begin to escape the girl’s eyes.

“No, I suspect you did not.” She walked closer to her and reaching into the hidden pockets of her dress, she produced a small handcloth. ‘Dry your eyes, girl.” 

After a brief moment of hesitation, the offering was accepted. “Thank you,” Lyanna mumbled. “My lady.” 

When the northern girl offered the cloth back, Rhaelle refused politely. “No, you keep that. Though I hope you do not have such use for it again.” 

An odd silence passed between them. Rhaelle was not going to leave, but it seemed the girl did not want to go either. _Odd._

Well, if she insisted on staying, Rhaelle would have answers. “So, all of this began with a little crown of flowers, hmm? When Robert told me of you before that tourney, he did not describe a girl that would be swayed by such nonsense. But I see that he did not quite know you after all.” 

“It wasn’t just that! It was - “ She stopped herself short. And her eyes were as wide as they were naive. 

“Well, go on, then. I’m quite curious.” Lyanna gaped at her as though she wanted to speak but could not. Rhaelle could only roll her eyes. “No one can hear us here. No one comes to this part of the gardens.” 

Worrying her lip, the girl seemed to consider the older woman’s words before finally speaking. “I...I was the knight, the one that the king had sought.” 

Rhaelle looked up, trying to recall what the girl spoke of and vaguely remembered hearing something of it after the tourney. “What does that have to do with anything?” 

“I needed to defend one of my father’s men, a friend. Three squires had beat him. And so...so I joined the joust. I dressed in armor, hidden. And I beat the knights those horrible boys served. All of them.” She spoke of the event as though it were a battle in a great war. Her face had become wistful. “I won. _I won_. And taught them all about honor.” 

When she was young and unaware of the world, Rhaelle might have been captivated by this. That was not quite her sentiment now however. 

Mostly she was bored. 

“Fascinating tale. You were brave to do so. Now I suppose you will eventually tell me what this has to do with anything?” 

The girl’s attention snapped back at her companion’s bluntness, grimacing. “The king sent men searching. And Rhaegar came upon me. He saw my armor. The crown was to honor me.” 

“I’m sure that will make for a lovely song many years for now. You’ll forgive me if I do not find much appealing in a tale of a man grown and already wedded and a girl barely flowered.” Before the Stark girl could protest Rhaelle proceeded. “Now tell me - what did you think would happen?” 

Lyanna wiped a stray and errant tear from her cheek. “What?” 

“After he so gallantly crowned you and shamed his wife.” The girl had the sense to blush in embarrassment at that chastisement. “Did you think you could somehow _marry_ and all would be well?” 

Grey eyes flashed at Rhaelle, first with annoyance - and then uncertainty. “The Targaryens...” She paused for a moment before clearing her throat. “They have taken more than one wife before. And I did not have any intention of being a...” _Can you not even say the word?_

Rhaelle hated the conqueror. It was because of him that others tried to make this absurd notion take root, no matter how shallow it truly was. “Perhaps that was done before, but not in many a year. And not by many nor without consequences. You did not listen to all your lessons, my dear” 

And then Rhaelle remembered something that had been gnawing at her mind since that ridiculous first meeting with all parties. “Did you even spare her a thought?”

The girl let out an exasperated breath. “What do you mean?” 

“No,” Rhaelle nodded in confirmation as she began to slowly pace around the tree a bit in thought. “Of course you did not think of her. Well, answer me this. Would you have so casually dismissed my nephew's _wife_ ,” Rhaelle emphasized the word so there was no room for doubt what she meant, “if she had been the Lannister girl? Or a Tully or Tyrell?”

The realization seemed to take hold of the child-woman’s face before a deep blush of embarrassment swept it away. The girl looked at her with an annoyed puzzlement. “I do not take your meaning.” 

The princess had paused her pacing now. Her eyes narrowed and she smiled knowingly. “Oh, but you do.” Rhaelle knew she was of the few that did not dismiss or disdain the Dornish. Perhaps it was because she relished her Dornish heritage as much as her First Men and Targaryen. _Sister-wives, pureblood_ \- it was all a farce of the highest order. But the rest of Westeros regarded the Dornish as a people to either be mocked - or not worthy of thought at all. And Aerys and Rhaegar had used their kin for their own purposes, not with the care and respect they deserved. 

And now Rhaelle had this one in front of her. She was not quite a woman. A youth in truth - but a privileged one who still had questions to answer. 

“You are a mess of contradictions, are you not?” Rhaelle’s voice had the appearance of softness but each word finished with a chilly edge. “You did not want my grandson because you believed he would not be true to you. And yet you foist that same burden on another woman.” She took slow steps towards the girl as she spoke. “Then you tell me a tale of honor and yet you did not spare a thought for the other woman who has been dishonored, who would bear so many of the consequences of your actions.” Rhaelle came to a stop right in front of Lyanna. “How should one reconcile all this, pray? Do you not see what is wrong with this picture you have painted of yourself? If this is northern honor, then perhaps you have done my house a favor in breaking the betrothal.”

And for the first time, the girl was silent. Perhaps Rhaelle had been harsh. But she found she had little tolerance for nobles who shirk their duty. The small folk had the fortune to marry for love while fighting tooth and nail just to eat, _to live._ What was asked of her family and other lords and ladies was not much by comparison. Not much at all.

“Lady Lyanna, I shall not fault you for much of this - you are a child. My nephew, a man grown and wed and a prince-now-king at that, is far more to blame. But I will do you the courtesy it seems no others have deemed and give you some counsel now that this is to be your home.” She paused to make sure she had her companion’s complete and undivided attention. Confident of that, she proceeded. " _Think_ before you act, girl. This world is already harsh as it is upon our sex, though we deserve it not. Everything you do ripples its way through the world. The smallest act can cause a storm. And realize that your burden is no greater than anyone else. When you mean justice for some but not others, then yours is a hollow justice that shall collapse upon itself.” 

It seemed perhaps her words had at least some impact for the girl seemed to study Rhaelle. Finally she gave a small bow of her head in acknowledgment. “I know I have insulted your house. It...it was not my intent.” 

“I don’t suspect you cared much about that insult nor do _I_ much care at this moment,” Rhaelle waved her off. “ But I suppose your brother will be dealing with a part of that now, won’t he?” 

“Brandon,” Lyanna whispered hoarsely. 

“Yes, he is meeting now with your gallant lover. And the _queen_. You may have a false balance of what justice is - but it is nothing compared to your fool king and his mad father.” Lyanna looked to the keep quickly, her brows furrowing in worry. “Now unless you want more counsel from me, I shall pray. Alone.” 

Lyanna Stark looked upon Rhaelle once more, her eyes wide and unreadable, too full of a storm of emotions. “I shall not trouble you any longer.” And without a word more, she was gone. 

Rhaelle watched her run off before turning to look upon her intended companion. Staring at the heart tree brought a sad smile to her lips. She thought of her mother and how she would rest in her lap on cool afternoons here as a child, twirling dragon’s breath in her hand. Then her thoughts drifted to the rest of her family, now long gone. Battle, illness...Summerhall. And as her eyes traced the lines of the heart tree, her mind traveled to the riverlands. 

“Do you still talk to my lovely weirwood of Raventree? Do the ravens still cloak it by night?” The wind rustled by her, scattering leaves around the grass. She’d not been to her mother’s home in decades. She had not yet met her cousin who now ruled though she’d heard he had a son who was dark of hair and as tall as his father and those before him. _How odd to have family and not know them,_ she thought sadly.

“Well, my friend,” she said to the tree. “The girl and I surely gave you more excitement than you normally receive. You may not have many visitors anymore, though surely even a faceless heart tree can observe much. So, tell me,” Rhaelle prodded to her faceless oak. “What do you see without eyes?” 

* * *

It was that part of the morning, somewhere between night and day - that point when it felt like time was paused. Clouds still coated the sky and the air was cool and fresh, untainted. 

“Are you sure you want to meet with him? That you trust him?” Small puffs of cold breath surrounded her uncle’s cautious words as they walked briskly through the keep to the large godswood. Elia’s slippered feet were silent against the tile and her uncle had done her the favor of discarding his loud armor for their short journey. 

The queen tugged her black cloak about her. Somehow it felt good to be cold and warm at once like this. “I am sure. He means me no harm, uncle,” Elia replied quietly but with assurance. One part of her said this was reckless - and then the other said surely it was not. The queen did not want to further insult or harm Lord Stark, after all. He had wanted to meet, how could she refuse him? 

_Yes, this was prudent._

Of course, there was the small matter that they were meeting alone, in a slightly secret area and at an absurd hour. 

Perhaps going forward it would be best not to take action before morning tea.

Her steps slowed for a moment - but only one moment, as her mind resolved itself once more. 

Brandon was the Warden of the north, a key part of whatever alliance was occurring with the Vale, Riverlands and Stormlands. Rhaelle had warned her of what she had already dreaded, of the uncertainty she felt brewing quicker and quicker. Her husband chased dreams, the storm lord would surely not go quietly no matter the deal with his grandmother. And the realm plotted as always. 

She must have allies and that's what Brandon was. An ally. No more, no less. 

_No more,_ she told herself. 

When they reached the grove, it was near silent. The sounds of the day were still asleep and all that surrounded them was the occasional ponderous murmurs of the wind. It pushed her untied, long and wavy hair upwards as she entered the space where the heart tree lay. And there he was, standing before the tree, pacing methodically with his hands clasped behind his back. His dark locks floated up in a flourish each time he made a turn. At the rustle of her steps, he stopped quickly. Their eyes met. 

Now it seemed even the wind had silenced itself, waiting for one of them to speak. 

After a brief moment, a half smile emerged on Brandon’s face. “I would say good morrow but that would not be quite right, would it?” 

“It is neither morning nor evening,” Elia replied quietly as she made her way towards him. Her uncle remained on the outside of the garden hedges that hid this spot. Even Varys’s eyes did not reach here, she thought. She hoped. “It is a time that requires a new definition, I suppose.” 

The half-smile on his face became full and whole. “Then we shall have to decide upon one.” 

She had closed the distance between them with only a few steps remaining between them and so she halted. They stood before the oak tree that did not seem to watch them. “When we were here last, you said you did not think your gods saw you,” she remembered, speaking softly as though raising her voice more would wake the world. “Do you still believe that?” 

His eyes drifted to the heart tree. Brandon placed one hand on it, tentative yet reverent. “I do not know. I can only hope that they do. To know that they watch me, it gives me comfort.” 

Elia’s eyes went to the tree as well, one hand matching his. Gently she began to trace its lines. “I’ve seen a few weirwoods, there are still some in the south. Tis a pity this is not one.” 

Brandon’s hand seemed to follow the queen’s movements, moving slowly up and down the bark. “This keep is too new and not of the First Men.” His voice was quiet and she could only hum in agreement. And then in the course of one moment, their hands met with barely a brush. But it was like a current of fire. She let out a small gasp, retrieving the wayward limb quickly. 

She straightened her back and looked upon him with an expression she hoped was neutral and did not reveal the turbulence of her emotions. “Are you ready for your journey?” 

“As much as is possible. I will go to Storm's End from here. Ned is there.” With an aggrieved sigh, he continued. “And I think perhaps I will have to speak with Robert.” 

“His grandmother has come to an agreement that should please him, no?” Surely the young man would see the sense in it. 

That roused a bark of laughter from Brandon. “No,” he shook his head with a rueful smile. “That arrangement is for the lady, her house and the stormlands. But Robert...this is not how he settles a matter. He only knows one way and it is not at a table in a grand keep.” 

_Of course_ , she remembered, Rhaelle had said as much. Elia shivered and it was not from the chill that surrounded them. Seeing her discomfort, Brandon closed the gap between them and placed his hands on her arms, moving them up and down to warm her. “Apologies, I should not have asked you to come when it would be so chilly.” 

She should have stopped him from touching her like this. But it comforted her and felt as natural as the sun’s shine on her skin. “There is no need to apologize,” she replied quietly with a smile. “I am well, I assure you.” She adjusted her shoulders slightly and the movement seemed to cause Brandon to cease his ministrations. 

“Were you satisfied with the meeting yesterday?” she finally asked. 

Her formality seemed to catch him off guard. “I do not yet know.” 

“Oh?” she asked casually, attempting to push down the bubbling nerves. “I thought you comported yourself well.” She hated that her voice had become a wisp of what she wanted it to be.

Brandon studied her keenly. “Is it the air’s chill that causes these nerves, my queen, or something else?” 

She could not tell if he was offering her a gracious exit from the path they could head towards - or if he was attempting to guide her there. “The chill, of course.” 

With that answer, he looked down for a moment. Then slowly he made to take her hands in his. Elia’s breath hitched, her body and heart utterly betraying the logical part of her brain in that moment. 

“Your hands are cold. That shall not do,” Brandon said quietly, his voice rumbling and traveling right through her. He ran his thumbs over her knuckles softly, soothing away the cold away. Elia knew she should take her hands away. 

But she did not. 

“What did you wish to speak of that you could not yesterday, Brandon?” Her voice had quieted even more as her eyes rested on their joined hands. 

“You thought I ‘comported’ myself well, did you?” His tone was light and mischievous.

The queen glanced up at him then and smiled. It ran through Brandon like the hot springs in Winterfell’s walls. “Yes, I did.” Then her tone sobered. “How do you feel now that it is done?” 

She could see something shift in his eyes at her question, as though he was searching for the answer. “I worry that my bannermen won’t accept this, that it will not be enough. That they will want blood for father.” His gaze drifted to the tree, though his hands continued to hold hers all the while. “I would not fault them either. Not when I feel it as well. But I do not know where to quench that thirst.” 

“You could not have waged war from here, Brandon.” Her voice was soft but earnest, beckoning to him. “Aerys is gone, and war cannot bring your father back. Though I know that is cold comfort.” It was him who had been holding her hands til that moment. But then he felt her grip his hands, and her hold brought him back from the darkness. “Sometimes you must also think of the _living_. The cost of war is great, and men too often forget that.” 

He cast her a wan smile. “As always, you are able to win with your words, my queen. Perhaps you should come speak to my bannermen,” he teased and unconsciously tugged at her hands, pulling her just ever so closer.

“I do not think your northern bannermen would give much credence to my words,” she said dryly. 

“I have,” he dared. 

“Perhaps do not tell them that,” she advised him with a laugh. But to Elia’s surprise, Brandon’s face was completely serious. His gaze made her feel like the ground had shifted and crumbled below them. 

“I have no shame in my admiration for you.” With one more step, he closed the small gap that remained between their bodies and joined hands. “I will never forget what you did for me. I need you to know that.” 

It was clear from the moment she saw him at Harrenhal - and since she had come to know him these past few months - that Brandon Stark did not do things in half measures. And so it was now, with his eyes completely full of emotion - earnest, bold and desperate. “Well,” she began quietly, unable to look away, pull away, walk away. She could only stay. “I think you acted admirably yesterday and what you have done will help your people. You will make them see that.” 

“I’ve had dreams of late,” Brandon murmured to her. “I'm traveling home and the journey is the same - but yet...it is not. It is not familiar. And when I arrive where Winterfell should be, it is gone. There is nothing but emptiness.” He spoke as though he were a ghost seeking final rest. 

Slowly Elia brought one hand up to cradle his face. “Home is not lost to you, Brandon. I have faith.” Her voice was quiet, but steady and resolute.

His eyes fluttered closed for a moment as he leaned into her touch. “You did this that morning, when I first woke. It was the only thing that didn’t make me feel like I was tearing apart inside.” Then he turned his head slightly, angling in and his lips pressed against her palm. “Thank you,” he whispered.

As she felt his lips graze against her skin, her heart was beating so fast, she felt like a sand steed running under the sun. 

“Is it odd that after months here, I want to leave this cursed place...but yet I don’t,” the northern lord wondered. He watched her with a curious fascination, as though he were waiting for something. 

“Why would you not want to leave, Brandon.” Her voice was barely a whisper. 

His other hand that still held hers dropped and rose, moving to brush some hair from her face. Not keen to leave that space just yet, his palm moved to cup her cheek gently, mirroring her own action. “Surely you know.” 

The queen’s hand dropped from Brandon’s face to his chest, gently bracing herself for support. And the gods knew she needed it greatly at that moment. His heart thrummed under her palm. “I think you overestimate me.”

That summoned a wolfish smile from him as he leaned his head down towards her. “Never.” And in a heartbeat, he had inclined his head just so to gently claim her lips. They were tender, soft as a petal. And seared like the sun. 

Elia gasped before her surprise and mind alike were silenced and she responded to him. Her fingers wrapped into his tunic as she fell into their kiss deeper and deeper. And then, as though they had a mind of their own, her hands traveled up to his neck and then to his hair. Her fingers tangled into raven strands. The action roused a low groan of pleasure from Brandon as he pulled her flush against him. 

This time, this moment, had no name and now seemed stretched on without measure - or it was all that these two people brought together by the worst of circumstances could do to try to stop the moment from ending. 

A few moments later, Elia broke the kiss, catching her breath and letting her mind and body try to reconvene. Brandon leaned down, caressing his cheek against hers. It seemed he would not let their time end. He placed a kiss above her brows before slowly leaning his forehead against hers, catching his breath as well. “I have wanted to do that for some time.” 

Their breaths seemed to become synced, falling in step. “Brandon,” she whispered. She realized she loved saying his name. 

His eyes remained closed ust as hers were, as though he were at prayer. “I would gladly wake to the sound of your voice calling to me.” 

“We cannot...this cannot be. Surely you know that.” 

“Aye,” he murmured lowly. “This odd time has been our own, as was this.” His thumb brushed across her lips. 

Slowly she pulled back so that she could look upon him. “Catelyn Stark is a beautiful woman. And was her father's heir for many a year. Your future holds promise.”

“She is a good woman," he agreed quietly. "Though the future does not seem to hold everything I desire.” 

That made her laugh with sadness. “It never does. So I suppose we must mourn what never was.” 

He caressed her hair, letting his hand wonder the length of her strands to her waist before holding on. “We had this moment, did we not?” 

Elia let out a deep exhale. Her hands wandered over his face, tracing it. "I am glad you lived, Brandon Stark."

"If I can ever be of use, of help - do not hesitate. I owe you a debt and I shall pay it back as many times as I can.”

“I want to believe that, I do,” she breathed. “But when our time expires here, you will have to remember what surrounds us - including your sister.” 

Brandon grimaced with discomfort, with uncertainty. With the unbearable weight of a decision he hoped to never make. “She will not challenge you.” Though he did not say it, his tone was pleading - whether for her to believe it or them both, she did not know. 

Elia could only smile at him, forlorn. Perhaps the Stark girl did not think of herself as a challenge, but only because she did not regard Elia as someone to be challenged. But there was no point in wrapping Brandon into that now. Or rather, the queen did not want to. She did not want to force an answer she was unsure of it. “If I am in need of aid, you shall hear from me, I promise.” 

“Tis the least I can do.” Brandon gently enclosed her face, looking at her as though he were memorizing every feature. After a moment of contemplation, he placed his lips on hers once more, chaste and seeking. 

A sliver of light began to paint itself into the sky, peaking through the clouds. Time would begin its march again soon. 

“The sun will rise shortly, the servants of the keep will have already begun their duties,” she told him quietly, one hand gently running through his hair in meditation. 

“I don’t want this to be over, Elia.” He spoke as though his voice would slay time from interrupting them. 

“How can something end when it did not even begin?” she wondered. 

“Will you see me off when we leave,” he asked quietly. His hand had moved under her cloak to run along the cloth that covered her back. 

“If you so desire, yes,” she replied softly. “Yes.” 

“I do so desire, my queen.” 

Elia closed her eyes and her hands brought Brandon’s down to lean against hers once more. “I will not lie. I find myself quite afraid. Everything feels precarious, brittle.” 

“Promise you will call to me if you should need aid.” 

She wanted to ask what she should do if his sister had a child, a boy, that could challenge her own. What would he do under the sway of northerners upset by Aerys or Rhaegar? Who wanted vengeance? 

But that was more than she could bear at the moment. So instead she said, “I will try.” 

“Promise me,” Brandon pleaded, pulling his head up to try to find an answer in her eyes. He needed her to tell him that this was simpler than it was, she realized. 

Elia looked at the northern lord, trying to will herself to give him the answer he believed he could honor. Instead she pressed her lips to his once more. “Be safe, Brandon Stark.” 

And then she ran from the day’s light. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I am very interested in Raventree Hall. End note. 
> 
> 2\. I know people have feelings about Lyanna - I will just say I am more interested in critiquing how GRRM has written this very fictional character and that part of the story. Westerosi or modern times, she wasn't an adult. I also think that reading the books with a modern lens means the reader (and author...?) should recognize 1) the inherent sidelining of Elia as a character of color and 2) the contradictions in how GRRM has written Lyanna as a character (if she did go willingly, which at this point is pretty clear - though perhaps didn't stay willingly). Rhaelle's conversation with Lyanna is more of a commentary on this. 
> 
> 3\. Heeeeeeeey my boos had a moment. 
> 
> 4\. I don't have a good Veep gif for this update. I also probably need to edit this cause it's not quite what I want it to be


	14. If words could cut like a sword - Jaime, Rhaella

_“_ _And me, that boy I was … when did he die, I wonder? When I donned the white cloak? When I opened Aerys’s throat?_ ” - Jaime VIII, A Storm of Swords

* * *

The air was strange.

But the days of late had been too.

Jaime stood in the outer yard of the keep watching as the queen bid goodbye to Brandon Stark and the Arryns. Why she thought it was necessary was beyond comprehension. But Elia was ever kind, he reasoned. Though she’d saved the northerner’s life already. Surely this was not necessary. 

After bidding goodbye to the Vale lord, the queen turned her attention to the wolf. “Remember to keep safe.” Brandon Stark’s grey eyes no longer held the coldness Jaime had grown accustomed to seeing. Quite the opposite, in fact. “Please do write if needed. As the king and I both said, we...” Elia faltered for a moment before speaking again. “We want to make sure our relations with the north are secure.” And then there was only silence. Jaime felt his head turn in curiosity as he took in Brandon Stark’s intense gaze upon the queen. 

The air was strange indeed. 

The northern lord grasped the queen’s hand delicately, bringing it to his lips. “I will not forget your kindness, my queen. If the gods are good, we shall meet again.” It felt like an hour passed before he released her hand - and her gaze. Finally he took the reins from the stablehand and mounted his horse. Jaime watched as Brandon Stark looked behind him - to the queen, then the castle - before spurring his horse to leave the red grounds that were a curse to his family. A trail of dust kicked up and around him and his companions, clouding their exit through the main gate. 

Jaime was glad to see the back of him. Brandon Stark was only another reminder of how powerless he’d felt against Aerys. As he walked behind and in step with Queen Elia back towards the keep, he could not help but think that the woman should be glad to be done with the northerner and the grief that had descended since he came yelling for Rhaegar that fateful day. And yet the Dornishwoman’s face was grimmer than Cersei’s when father had sent him to squire for Lord Crakehall. 

The wind brushed around them and lifted his white cloak, making it feel lighter than it had since he came here from Harrenhal. At least the Kingsguard were seven again, not five, now that Dayne and Whent were back. Jaime thought he’d heard the king mention Dorne but he knew they would not have gone there. Surely he could not be so - 

_No_ , the knight stopped his thoughts from going too far. What had Hightower said on that awful day, full of charred flesh and smoke? _Yes_ , he was here to guard, not judge. So instead, Jaime took a deep breath, the air - perhaps more tense than strange - traveling through him like a dense fog. Things would be better now, surely. Aerys was the problem - and he was gone. Rhaegar would not burn people. He would not harm his wife. 

Not physically, he thought. _He hoped._ Though of course he had already hurt the queen in other ways, the young knight could not help but think. The Mad King had been kind and charismatic once too, his father had told him. Until he wasn’t. 

And Aerys had won against his father in the end, Jaime laughed bitterly to himself. _For I am here and a Kingsguard serves for life._

He looked to Queen Elia and then let his eyes scan their surroundings. Surely there was no danger here, but he did it nonetheless. Harmless and clear as expected, his gaze shifted up to take in the colossal red structure where his father has spent so many years. Jaime wondered if Tywin Lannister was cursing himself for not daring to make Cersei Rhaegar’s second wife. In that case, it would surely be less than a fortnight until she was his only wife, of course. Though for now, the northern girl was as likely to be a true wife as Jaime was to be a maester. It had spread quickly through the keep and the city - and surely the realm - that the High Septon had made his opinion known on the matter. 

_Take comfort in that, sweet sister._

And the Stark girl herself knew the septon’s verdict, as well - and had made her own thoughts known. It’d been impossible not to hear. Cersei likely heard the wildling from the Rock. First Lyanna Stark had raged at her brother for leaving and then at the king for ‘feeding her sweet lies, for making her a mistress.’ Insipid girl. The king swore he would prevail, though Jaime did not see how. Cersei would have gelded the man by now - or killed her sister-wife. Perhaps both. 

_Cersei_. 

He didn’t even bother to fight the thoughts of her. Golden hair twirling through his hands, pristine flesh pressed against him and soft lips on his neck as she whispered their blissful future to him. Those thoughts had comforted him through the horrors of Aerys, they were so powerful. His twin filled his mind as much as air filled his lungs, the need for both the same. 

Perhaps there was still hope. Cersei would come here and they would be together. And he would be a knight as great as the Sword of the Morning. _Surely there is a way._

“Ser Jaime,” the queen beckoned to him then, waking him from his thoughts. They had neared the end of the yard now. “You are very quiet, is all well?” 

_No honorable ways, of course._ He left that dark path of thought and instead, summoned a smirk that was always at the ready. “Of course, my queen. Just meditating on how lovely it is to be in your presence.” 

Elia scoffed at that. “Flattery and lies do not become you,” she challenged with a smile, though it did not quite meet her eyes.

 _I think they become me too well._ “If I am quiet and serious, perhaps it is because I follow as my liege does,” the knight dared back, hoping to end her inquiry.

He regretted his words a bit when he saw her expression change, falling slightly. “You’re quite right, Jaime. I - I find that I am tired,” she replied quietly. “Forgive me.” He almost hated how kind she was to him - even if he knew he also basked in it. But the knight deserved no kindness, he remembered - not from her. Surely Elia knew how little the Kingsguard had protected queens before. There was living proof right in the castle after all. 

And if she did not know, he hoped she would never have cause to.

They finally made it to the steps of the keep then. “Are _you_ well?” he asked, giving her his hand as they walked up. “Do you need to see the maester, my queen?” 

“No, no,” she laughed. But the way she brushed away his question was with near the same emotion he had done away with hers naught a minute ago. “I have correspondence I must see to.” 

As they made their way to her solar, his armor clinked like the tick of a clock. He could not help but think about his father again and what he was doing now. Planning. So many deals had been made here, surely he knew by now. Aerys was gone and Jaime expected that his father would want to have him leave the Kingsguard. But the vow was for life, was it not? And surely even some things were beyond Lannister power. 

_Father would disown me just for that thought._ No matter that it was true - more so now that the king had already challenged the Faith. Rhaegar would be a fool to risk it again just to be in his father’s good graces. 

They were just turning a corner when they were met with the queen dowager and her youngest son. 

“Elia,” Rhaella breathed, greeting the young queen with a kiss to each cheek. “We were just going for a small excursion. Viserys wanted to swim.” Jaime continued to marvel at how different she seemed now, for the better - though it was not truly any wonder. And surely it was no thanks to him and his brothers. 

The young prince went swiftly to the queen, clasping one hand in his own. “You’ll come, won’t you, Aunt Elia?” Viserys pleaded. 

Some joy at last seemed to bloom on the queen’s face. “Of course, if you wish it, my dear. I’ll just go through my letters quickly and come to you.” Then she bent slightly to cup one cheek tenderly. “And on my way, I shall stop by the kitchen to fetch your favorite foods, how does that sound?” 

“Yes! Blood oranges!” the boy said eagerly. Then he glanced up at his mother before looking back to the queen. “And honey cakes?” 

Elia looked to Rhaella for an answer to that, receiving a small nod and smile. “And honey cakes,” she confirmed. That earned her a swift but fierce hug around her thin waist before the boy departed with his mother, guards in tow. He was as energetic as Tyrion, a bit haughty though that was to be expected. Father had thrown a tournament for Prince Viserys when he was born. And Aerys had come with no babe and an insult for father and his twin. _I wonder if father would try to wed Cersei to him when he is of age_. A voice in his head told him the queen dowager would not let that come to pass somehow. 

“She seems...much better,” Jaime couldn’t help but observe of Rhaella to the queen as they resumed their walk. He knew she did not mind him speaking so casually with her. 

“Much.” Elia’s face was all relief. Then she turned to him with a small smile. “I think perhaps our mothers would be happy that we are here with her. Even if this is not quite how they planned our future.” 

“I believe they had quite different plans, Your Grace.” As soon as he said that, he felt himself blush like a greenboy and felt an idiot. But the queen seemed to brighten, a true laugh falling from her lips, and it was so pleasant, his embarrassment washed away.

“Yes, so they did.” _But not your father,_ was what went so clearly unsaid. 

When they reached her quarters, she walked to her desk. “I’ll not be long, Ser Jaime,” she advised him and began looking through the letters. One seemed to bring a brief smile to her face. Perhaps from her family in Dorne, he thought as he began to pull the heavy door shut. But he stopped for a moment to look at the queen once more. The letters were on the table alone now. Elia had gone to the window, her fingers pressed to the glass and her eyes staring far out. 

When Jaime finally pulled the door shut, he couldn’t but think she looked as though she was searching for something. 

* * *

It was a beautiful day, if not a bit chilly. But it did not bother her son, he was so thrilled to be running in and out of the water. Rhaella smiled as Viserys kicked at the sand and water as it washed in, watching with delight as the mixture of the two flew into the air. The clouds were beginning to fade and as the sun hit the water that had sprung from his swift kicks, the droplets sparkled like stars. The waves had created a soothing rhythm that swayed in the air. It was idyllic, blissful. And had been all too rare for so many years. 

The lull came to a brief halt when Viserys began jumping and shouting and waving his hands excitedly. Rhaella turned to see Elia coming to them, basket in hand and Jaime Lannister just behind. 

“Well, he will most certainly sleep well tonight,” Elia laughed as she sat down on the quilt laid out beneath them. 

“We could never have done this when Aerys was alive,” Rhaella mused. “Viserys always wanted to come out and swim. But it was no use. We could barely leave our rooms.” Now she wanted to spend as long outside as they could. 

Rhaella thought back to the night when Aerys rid them of his presence once and for all. _Such a gift as your final act, brother._ He and the alchemist fools had been so sure. Even after so much ruin their family had already experienced trying similar acts in the past, but her brother thought he was above it all. Or he chose to forget. Either way, sometimes she still could not believe all it had taken was a carefully written letter and the right seal in the end. 

“They have not questioned Rossart and the other pyromancers yet, it seems,” she pondered out loud to Elia, picking up sand on the edge of the quilt and letting it run through her fingers to scatter down once more. When the wind brushed past them, Rhaella rubbed her arms for warmth, her sandy fingertips grazing over the scars Aerys had given her. The last ones had come after he burned Lord Stark.

Elia hummed in confirmation. “I believe they had been waiting for Rhaegar at first. But then he was...well, _preoccupied_.” 

Viserys had begun to try to build a castle in the sand now. Perhaps the water had become too cold. The clouds were moving in and out, unable to decide if they would let the sun shine or not. “They’ll have to eventually,” Rhaella replied. “And they may want the letter.” The only people close by were Barristan Selmy and Joanna’s boy, but still, she was glad that the sound of the waves created a small wall of protection for their words. 

“You were distraught that night.” Elia’s face was all calmness as she continued to gaze out towards the water. “It must have fallen from your hands when you were overcome with emotion, is that not so?” 

Yes, of course. That was why afterwards, the two of them retreated to her room for a glass of wine. She needed to calm herself, anyone could reason. As she and Elia had sat in her room and the fire crackled, Rhaella had looked over the parchment that had sealed Aerys’s fate in her hands. The parchment that she and Elia had taken such care to write and make sure it found its way to the Guild.

No one would have stood up against Aerys. Not lords, not the men behind her nor their other brothers in white. Lord Stark’s screams of pain had fallen on deaf ears, just as hers had for so long. It seemed no one would put an end to the horror and madness.

So if not her, then who? And when? She would never know now. And it would not have succeeded if her brother had not always thought bigger and grander than reality ever gave. But, of course, she had known that when she put the quill to paper.

“Do you think they will remember that they handed the letter over to me?” Rhaella had asked Elia when they’d sat together that night, the corpse of her brother most likely still burning from the inside below the throne. 

Her good-daughter’s voice had been naught but a whisper. “I think there is a fair chance they shall not, they were all in such a state of shock.” 

Truth be told, Rhaella wondered if any questions would be asked at all. Despite the horrid sight, she did not think anyone was truly surprised Aerys would try such a thing. And after all, it was just ink and parchment - and aren’t words just wind? And when she had dropped the letter into the fire that night, they were not even that. 

She was roused from the images of that night when Elia took her hand in her own. Her skin was warm like the sun that had come back out now. “If they ask, we will sort it out. I was with you afterwards. And I do not remember any letter.” 

For a moment, Rhaella saw the face of her old friend in the young woman before her. _What would you think of all this, Loreza? Am I weak for needing her? Or because it took me so long to find a way out?_ Rhaella clasped Elia's hand back solidly and nodded. After a moment of contemplation, she finally spoke. “I only regret not acting sooner.” 

As they sat at the shore watching Viserys, the ripples of the parchment crumpling into the fire that night receded to the far parts of her mind. Instead, Rhaella let her mind take in her son’s laughter, the feel of the sun bathing her - and the air, had it ever been so fresh? 

She could not feel her scars anymore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rhaella: "Well, someone had to woman up"
> 
>   
> 


End file.
